#and i will always come back each spring to plant carrots in your garden | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

what-even-is-thiss · 3 years

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Persephone

Every year she arrives at the start of Autumn with new seeds for the garden and Hades helpfully holds the basket for her as she gets her hands dirty.

He appreciates the kind of filth she brings with her. It's active, proactive, helpful. Not stagnant and rotting. Not the kind of filth that sits and develops with death that needs to be removed for the sake of the still living. A kind of filth with its own merit, but not why she’s here. The kind that comes with her is getting dirt on your pants and dust in your hair. The kind of filth that comes from burning yourself on a pan or mowing the lawn or climbing a tree. Active, alive, dirt that gathers under your nails and nourishes as well as hurts.

Every year as she gets him to put on clothes a bit more practical for gardening and gets to sowing her seeds, and she tells him stories as they work. He is quiet and not one for this particular kind of hard work, but he’s a good listener with a warm laugh, and that’s good enough for her.

Every year they have done this since before humans could write and every year as they do this she tells him what the humans think of them this time, and every year he gets a good laugh.

“Who’s the primary suspect now?” he asks as he puts on his boots.

“You, I think.” she says with a smile. “Mother/daughter relations theory.”

“Again?“ he asked. “Don’t they have anything new?”

“I’m sure they will by the time I get back.” she said, adjusting her sunhat. There is no sunlight in the underworld but she wears a sunhat anyways.

After what needs to be replaced in the garden has been replaced she puts on something a little more formal. Something a little less farm girl, which she is fine with and he likes much more. Hermes, who knows everything and everyone, may or may not come by with a letter from her mother and his sister, addressed to both of them, which they may or may not read right now.

They sleep in separate rooms except for when they don’t, and they talk together late into the night except for when they don’t. Despite being gods they cook together, except for when they don’t, a lot of their time spent with her talking and him talking sometimes and a lot of their time spent in complete silence. Sometimes in the evenings she sits on his lap and they read. Sometimes he sits on her lap and they watch a movie and play with each others’ hair. Sometimes they sit in different rooms thinking about everything they are worried about. Sometimes they speak to other people. Together or apart.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Demeter speak of snow. Persephone rarely sees snow. She never liked it anyways.

In the spring she sees it melting and that is that. She stands on her toes and leaves Hades a kiss on his jaw, getting a facefull of scratchy black hair before putting on her farm girl clothes and running into her mother’s arms.

Every year her mother visits all corners of the northern hemisphere, taking her daughter in tow. They bless fields or lay them bare. In her spare time she leaves her mother and visits corners of the wild to speak with gods that still hate agriculture but love the goddess of spring. They speak with her and tell her to tell her mother that she should do better. She rarely does.

Demeter is organized and opinionated. She’s loud and stubborn. She carries a long scythe that she uses on plants, humans, and animals alike. Around her Persephone is the quiet one. Something that is also fine. Demeter just likes it when her daughter is there. Warm and ready to be a steady hand. She’s gentle with a little wrath. She’s smart and carries the hopes of the dead with her. The sort of hope that turns corpses into good soil and manure into carrot stew. That turns death into life for other things. A sort of complicated darkness that follows her around as tightly as air and gives a deep, refreshing rest.

Some nights they sleep on Olympus, some nights they don’t. Some nights they fight, some nights they don’t. Both kinds of nights have their merits. Both are ones that they go to sleep knowing that they will see each other in the morning.

There isn’t much to say between them. They know everything that the other wants to say. They talk business, mostly. When Hermes comes they gossip about family. Sometimes he brings a letter from Hades. Sometimes he brings business or a gift from Hera that clearly illustrates that she doesn’t know them. Sometimes Hermes just comes to ask how she is doing. She always answers him honestly.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Hades speak of danger and organization and how much he hates his brothers. Persephone understands. She hates them too, whether that is earned or not.

It has been like this for a long time. All sides feeling just fine. Love from all directions, but not love that is full of a passion. It is barely there, but comfortably so.

Demeter used to be disorganized, Hades used to be louder, and Persephone... she wasn’t quite sure yet. She had gotten to the age where she should know what kind of flaw she had but she didn’t. She didn’t love anyone or anything, except for maybe the feeling of living dirt beneath her feet.

She knew very well what was inside the cave. What brought her downwards wasn’t love or curiosity, but a need for change. And change things did. He wouldn’t let her go once he had her. She was a ticket out of questions. Something to keep the rest of the family away. She realized too late the consequences of her impulsivity.

After the initial shock and hunger strike she actually started looking around and got to talking. If not with him, then with the dead and the spirits of the rivers. They said that he was weird and needed someone to teach him patience. She said that was something he had in common with her mother.

He was very clear with her about what would happen if she ate that specific fruit. She ate it, very clear with him what her intentions were.

After a thousand years the plants could no longer survive without the cold and Demeter saw this. Slowly, slowly, she began speaking to her siblings again, and stopped holding her daughter’s hand. Winter still came. She never told them that this time it was for the good of the plants and not out of spite. Only Dionysus seemed to understand why. Thankfully, he could keep a secret.

After centuries passed Persephone transformed the underworld, little by little it became just a little less dark. He let her come to him on her own time. The first time she touched him, she asked, and almost every time after that she asked, until enough time had passed that she just knew from a glance. Once that time had come he began to ask as well and they both had slightly bigger beds placed in their rooms. Who did it first, they don’t remember.

The mortals always wanted to make this simpler than it was. Say that it was his fault or her fault or her mother’s fault. Really though, it had just happened. Then over and over again it just happened, falling into place over a thousand years.

She didn’t know when she started loving her mother again, or her husband, or even how much she loved them, but that part didn’t matter. Neither the earth, nor mount Olympus, nor the underworld was perfect, and neither was she, and neither were they. Sometimes a set of unusual circumstances leads to another set of unusual circumstances and sometimes a young goddess gets caught in the middle of it. And maybe in the beginning the young goddess was confused by it all.

And maybe now she’s just... content.

#roman wrote a thing #mythology nerd time #roman said a thing

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hisoknen · 4 years

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chef boyardon’t || hawks

warnings: fluffy smut, first date with hawks wc: 2.4k

a/n: this is for my spring time anon @smol-floatyy for the @bnhaclaimedmysoul event!! sorry i couldn’t resist the title, forgive my shit humor XD it’s been so nice getting to know you and i would love to keep in touch! this pushed me out of my comfort zone and i learned a lot! i hope you enjoy it! sincerely 🌺 anon

Stretching your body and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, swinigng your legs over the side of the bed. Your body was sore and your head was pounding against your skull. Your stomach growling was the only thing that had your body moving at this point.

“Oop, hey there baby bird,” you hear Hawk’s voice coo as you step into the kitchen. Walking over to him, you wrap your arms around his body and breathe him in.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up Y/n,” he chuckles. Letting out a groan, you reach around him for a bag of chips, before turning to walk over to the couch. “Stay up late again, hm?” He follows in suit, collapsing beside you. This was the first time all week that you’d seen him.

“Mmhhm,” you fall into his lap, the bag of snacks perched on your stomach while you crunch away.

“How was work?” You mumble, looking up at him as you shove a handful of the salty chips into your mouth.

“Ahh, it was honestly pretty boring, I’m just ready to take it easy, here with you.” He smiled down at you, his eyes squinting shut, shoveling a handful of the chips into his own mouth. The relaxed air he was putting off always frustrated you.

Why wouldn’t he just talk to you more about how he was really feeling. You knew his job was stressful but whenever he was here he cut all conversations revolving around it, short.

You decided to not push him on it any further, distracting yourself by popping a few more chips into your mouth. At least he was here, spending time with you and holding you after all.

“Hey Y/n, why don’t cha tell me about the best date you’ve ever been on?” He grins, looking down at you inquisitively. You almost choke on your food, your cheeks immediately grow hot as you try to swallow the last of your chips, thinking of how to divert his question to avoid responding.

“I really enjoyed that one time that we made pasta together.” You smile up at him, your hand shifting to rest on top of your chest, rubbing at the skin.

“I enjoyed that too, but that’s just us cooking together, ya know? What the best date you’ve ever been on?” Hawks grabs the bag you’ve been fidgeting with, popping a chip into his mouth, his hand resting on your shoulder as he waits for you to respond.

“Remember the time we planted the carrots in the garden.” You counter, racking your brain for something to say. You’d never actually gone on a date. You always wanted him to ask you out on your first, but he was always so busy, and you understood that.

He was the Number 2 Hero after all. He had more important things to be doing than taking you out on dates. You always saw how tired his eyes looked whenever he came over, how he plastered a happy look on and you just wanted him to relax and spend time with you. It wasn’t all that important for the two of you to go out when you had each other’s company.

“Y/n,” he chuckled, “Once again, that’s just us spending time together, kitten, I wanna know about the best date you’ve been on, I won’t get jealous, just want to know so I can top it.” He gives you a Cheshire grin.

While Hawks wasn’t someone to take things too seriously, you knew how much he cared about you and that he was sensitive when it came to what you thought of him. How could you reassure him and make sure he didn’t beat himself up over it. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

“I uh- I haven’t ever actually been out on a date.” You stammer, “I mean- we do a lot of fun things! I consider them dates.” You hurry to reassure him but it’s too late. You see his face fall for a split second, his brows furrowing.

“Keigo, I love the time we spend together, it’s more than enough for me.”

---

Who the fuck is that? You try to rack your brain for people who would be showing up to your house in the afternoon. Hawks had your keys so it couldn’t be him. Had you ordered something? No that couldn’t be it. Shit who the fuck was it?

You felt horrible after what had happened yesterday. You hadn’t intended to make Hawks feel bad. He’d asked you the question in the first place. But as soon as you told him that you’d never been on a date, he had grown silent for the remainder of the night.

He looked lost in thought and no matter what you said he would just shrug you off. All you ever wanted was for him to wrap you up in his arms and be beside you. You hadn’t lied about that and you couldn’t think to ask him for anything more, it was all you ever wanted from him.

You nervously approach the door, anxiously peaking into the hole. What the hell? Through the small hole you could see Hawks nervously looking at his feet, hands hidden behind his back. Did he leave his key here?

You quickly unlock the door and his eyes flash up to yours. “Kei-”

“I uh… got these for you” he cuts you off, flinging his hands before you, a bouquet of spider lilies in his hands.

“Hey lil bird. Ahh... if you don’t have any plans, I would love to take you out on a date.” His cheeks are blushing as he stares up at you, searching your face. You take the flowers into your hands, your eyes widening sight before you.

You’d told him about your favorite flower, but you didn’t think he’d remembered. You’d never seen white spider lilies, and they were absolutely beautiful. You look back up at Hawks and see him shifting from one foot to the next, his hand is scratching the back of his head while he looks to the side.

“I would love to.”

---

You’d never had more fun. After putting the flowers away you grabbed your bag and headed out with Hawks. You’d walked around the city for hours, grabbing snacks along the way, hand in hand.

You were radiating, the air around you was warm smelt sweet, you could tell that the smile on Hawks’ face was genuine, without a trace of worry, and it made your heart sing. He’d made you wait outside of the supermarket while he grabbed groceries.

“We should probably start walking home now,” you stroll up to him as he emerges from the store, the sky darkening around you.

“Can you hold these?” he holds the bag up to your face. You smile up at him and take the bag “Ah ah, no peeking.” He closes your hands around the bag, “Com’er,” he pulls you flush against his body.

“Kei-” your words get caught in your throat as you watch the ground beneath you disappear. “Shh, just enjoy the view. I insist.” He whispers against your ear, the whirling of his wings surrounding you.

You look below and find the market you were at mere moments ago the size of a miniature diorama.“I’ve wanted to take you up here for the longest time.” Your fingernails dig into his arms, your heart was beating out of your chest. “Don’t worry, love. Relax and enjoy the view.” He purrs and you slowly ease up on the pressure.

The city lights twinkling below you stars in front of you were vibrant and glistening. It all looked like a dream. You lose track of time, taking in your surroundings from a new perspective.

This is how he saw the world everyday? How small we are in comparison to the things that surround us. He was sharing this beauty with you.

You arrive through your bedroom window, Hawks gracefully placing you onto the bed, his forehead brushing against yours while he steals a kiss from your lips.

“Now you stay here.” he grabs the bag from your hands and pushes himself from the mattress. You watch him disappear, closing the door behind him. You dreamily walk over to your dresser to put on a tank top and shorts.

The whole day had been an absolute dream. You relax against the bed, head propped on the pillow, engraving the memory into your mind, reliving the moment over and over again.

“Hey there, dove,” you turn your head to the door to find him propped up against it, striking a sexy pose. You would have been drooling if not for the fact that he was wearing a chef hat, clad in nothing but an apron covered in chicken nuggets.

“Where did you get that?” you sit up right, trying to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape. He puffs his cheeks out at you pouting, pushing himself from the door and walking toward you.

“You don’t like it?” The string holding his outfit together looked so flimsy, one wrong move and he would be completely exposed in front of you. The way the hat was thrown on with haste, made him look like he was straight out of a parody porno.

“No, no I love it!” You let out a giggle scooting over to give him space. He laid a soft kiss against your lips, hands grasping at your hips “Chicken nuggets?” You take the fabric into your hands, smiling up at him through your eyelashes.

Breaking out in a cheeky grin, he lifts his eyebrows at you, moving down your body. His mouth covering your exposed skin with feathery light kisses, hands pulling your legs apart, finger ghosting over your panties.

“What are you making?” You let out a sigh, relishing in the feeling of his fingers circling your clit.

“That, my love.” He lays a kiss against your clothed core, “Is a surprise.” The cold air of the room hits your core as he pulls your panties to the side, his tongue immediately delving into your folds.

Breath catches in your throat as his tongue laps away at your center, his fingers ghosting over your entrance, looking down at him through your lidded eyes. His tongue flat, trailing up from your slit and flicking at your clit.

His fingers sink into your core, curling up while he continues his painfully slow ministrations on your clit. His fingers slip inside of your slit, his tongue lapping at your folds, moving at a tantalizing pace.

“Y-you feels so good.” Your hands thread into his hair, pulling him closer. The breath coming from his nose, sending shivers up your spine. He tugs gently at your folds, working his fingers in and out, brushing against the spot that has you moaning above him. Trying to keep your eyes open is an impossible task as he kneads at the point, clamping his lips around your clit and twirling his tongue around it.

“You’re always so tight for me, dove.” The lewd words seep into your brain, electricity coursing through your veins.

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, sucking him in further. “Kei- I’m gonna,” your hips are bucking into his mouth, body undulating beneath him.

“Come for me, dove,” he purrs against your soft flesh returning to your throbbing pussy. The pressure in your belly builds with each swipe of his tongue, your hands tightening their grip in his hair, eliciting a groan from his sweet mouth. His pace picks up, the pressure he is applying has you screaming out his name, walls convulsing around him.

Hawks places delicate kisses onto the inside of your thighs, fingers tracing the skin of your shaking legs, your mind is swimming but you're brought back to your senses in moments. Sniffing the air you sit up on your elbows.

“Do you smell something?”

“Oh shit!” his hands immediately disconnect from your body, dashing out to the kitchen. Quickly grabbing your shorts, you follow after him, dipping your legs into the openings. Hawks is using the hat to waft the air over the pan in an attempt to lessen the smoke.

“Fuck!” He let out a frustrated growl moving the it onto another burner, trying to salvage the dish. “I can’t believe I forgot to set a timer,” he mumbles to himself, running a hand through his hair. You close the gap between the two of you,

“That kinda blows.” he huffs, a disappointed look seeping through his features.

“Is that Mole?” You take another sniff, looking onto the charred sauce in the pan. The sauce looked delicious and you dipped your fingers into it, wincing as the liquid burned the tip of your finger.

You still pull it into your mouth with a pop, holding back a grimace. You could tell even if it wasn’t burnt it would have tasted.. Unique to say the least. But he went through all this trouble for you?

“It was.” he chuckles, taking the pan and bringing it over to the sink to soak. He’d really gone all out today.

“I wanted today to be perfect.” His hands reach up to rub at his forehead.

“I guess for the longest time. I wasn’t really thinking about all of the things I wanted to experience with you. I get so caught up just being with you that sometimes I forget to show you how important you are to me.” Hawks looks down at his feet, a nervous smile taking over his features.

“But I am glad that I was able to take you out on your first date at least. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did kitten. I really wanted to make your favorite dish but uh…. We still have time to order some takeou-”

“Hey.” You cut him off, walking to the freezer.

“What are you doing?” he watches you rummage through the contents. You emerge with a box of dinosaur nuggets in hand, a smile spreading across your lips.

“You know. As much as I love Mole, I’ve been really craving chicken nuggets all day. How about we try to make it another time?” His brows furrow for a moment. Walking over to him you place a kiss onto his lips, pulling the hat from his hands and rearranging it back on top of his head.

“Next time, okay? Everything about today was perfect and the only way I can see the day ending is with a face full of nuggets, so get on it chef.” You hand him the box, landing a playful swat at his butt.

masterlist

#bnha spring time #hawks x reader #hawks x reader smut #bnha smut #THIS EVENT WAS SO WHOLESOME AND LOVELY AND I AM SO GLAD I GOT TO MEET NEW FRIENDS THIS WAS AMAZING #LKSJFD

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

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Raising Frodo With Bilbo Headcanons

Request: Whenever I’m looking at fanfiction about a certain thing I always find that you’ve written at least something about it and it always makes me smile! Your writing is gorgeous so if it’s not too much to ask, can I request a bilbo baggins x reader scenario (or headcanons if it’s easier) where the reader and bilbo are raising a young frodo and it’s just some fluff of them doing cute family things and there’s some little moments between the reader and bilbo?

This is so CUTE and you’re so KIND I’m CRYING <3

(Also this is kind of an AU! where Frodo isn’t like in his 20s and instead is around three)

Please comment and request!

Most nights end with lullabies. You and Bilbo sit on the edge of Frodo’s small, rickety wooden bed, Bilbo gently humming a warm tune while you chime in with the soft words. Frodo always sits there in awe, his face sparkling as it peaks outwards from the quilt-like blanket you had stitched for him.

The two of you would always have to stay there, smiling cheekily at each other in the warm orange glow of the young hobbit’s bedroom until he falls asleep. If you gently unclenched his hand from the bottom of your shirt, and he was still awake, he would be straight back up again and jumping around the room.

Some nights, tickle matches break out. You and Frodo just look at each other, that little side eye joined with a small twitch at the corner of your lips before the two of you pounce and start attacking Bilbo.

Bilbo, the poor hobbit, always jumps, trying to wiggle around the bed and out of the grasp of you and the young babbling Frodo, but only ends up grabbing onto your hips and rolling the two of you onto the floor with a thump, much to Frodo’s delight.

You telling Frodo stories and legends on your knee in front of the roaring fire. The two of you sit cozy by the flame, Frodo’s giggling face illuminated by the flickering light, enveloping the two of you in the familiar scent of pine as you bounce him gently on your knee.

Bilbo comes into the sitting room with two mugs and a curious smile, handing you down a cup of tea, which you gladly accept in one hand in a thank you, trying to avoid Frodo’s outreaching clenching fist. He snuggles down in his large, laced armchair opposite the two of you, bouncing against the cushion as he blew over the top of his drink. Over the rim, he watches the two of you with a smile of absolute adoration on his face.

He blushes and looks away into the fire when you catch his eye.

Bilbo wants to raise Frodo to be kind, and proper, and so he teaches him tea etiquette from a young age. This involves the three of you sitting in a circle on the ornate carpet, your knee leaning on Bilbo’s as Frodo sits opposite, wide eyed, watching Bilbo's fingers.

He ends up spilling the tea on himself.

Frodo, Pippin and Merry spend a lot of spring afternoons running outside in the nearby orchard whilst you and Bilbo garden. Your hands brush over each others, as the sound of squealing and someone falling rises over the fence, the two of you glancing at each other with amused smiles. Your knees make sure to stay stuck together, shoulder to shoulder while you pull up the carrots and pluck the ripe apples from the blooming trees.

At nights, you and Bilbo make puppets and dress up, doing silly voices to reenact Bilbo’s stories concerning the Quest of Erebor, making Frodo giggle and clap.

When Frodo starts to get a little older, he starts to call Bilbo out when he recognises the inconsistencies in his stories (Bilbo does like to exaggerate).

Bilbo looks to you for help, but you just shake your head, biting your bottom lip to try and stop from laughing before turning back to fixing Frodo's worn braces.

Bilbo comes in one day with just a handful of Farmer Maggot’s mushrooms that he found in Frodo’s pockets, making you laugh from behind your book.

He does cook you a beautiful meal with it, though. He sets up a little round table outside, Frodo helping him string up some lights around the collection of plant pots, placing some candles around the table under the soft glow of a summer’s dusk.

You being the one to clean Frodo up everyday, and the one to try and comb back his curly hair when he gets all dirty exploring outside.

You and Bilbo smiling at each other when you open Frodo’s bedroom door and see him lying sprawled on the small bed one way, Merry lying the other way, half off the bed, and Pippin just full on spread out on the floor asleep.

Trying to help Frodo learn elvish.

Frodo loves pouring over old maps, and so he makes the two of you take him out to explore the Shire. Bilbo shows him his favourite routes, grabbing your hand and swinging it between yours, his favourite thing to do on bright autumn mornings, nothing but the falling of the sepia leaves to the dew speckled grass disturbing you.

#lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr #frodo baggins #bilbo baggins #bilbo baggins imagine #bilbo baggins x reader #bilbo baggins fluff #frodo lotr #frodo baggins imagine #the hobbit #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fluff #elijah woods #elijah wood #martin freeman

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trashfor-imagines · 4 years

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My Senpai | 4

Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re Goshiki Tsutomu’s older doting sister, second year at Shiratorizawa and captain of the girl’s track & field team. At your brother’s first practice you sneak in to support him and end up meeting the impressive force that is his captain. Warnings: None really. Mentions sex. Spoilers: We’re encroaching on manga territory. Takes place after Karasuno v Shiratorizawa.

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in forever! I lost my original chapter and got discouraged. I started rewatching Ushijima episodes to refresh my grasp on his character.

[1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

It was a shock. You never thought Shiratorizawa was capable of losing this year. Ushijima appeared unaffected, but that was just him. It was always mental for him and he had the ability to act with a sort of chivalric grace whenever faced with conflict. God, your boyfriend was really cool. Your brother, however, it broke your heart to see him cry.

After the award ceremony, you raced down to wait by the bus. Ushijima walked out first, his head held high. Noticing you, he simply rested his large hand on your head before getting on the bus. Quiet hello’s and thanks for coming’s were whispered to you. Your little brother could barely make eye contact, the last one to get on the bus. Reaching for his hand, you gave it a squeeze before letting it go and heading for the bus that brought the cheer squad.

The ride felt long. You spent most of it listening to music and playing with the sleeve of Ushijima’s spare team jacket he’d given you shortly after dating. You smiled and chatted occasionally with your fellow students, but the topics of discussion were focused on how Ushijima and the third years were doing. They expected you to have the answers and quite frankly, you thought it was obvious.

Getting back, you made your way into the gym to see the team working on serves. You sat quietly on the sidelines and watched as everyone gave their all, letting out their frustrations from the day. You never knew you could find the slams of volleyballs to be comforting to where they could put you to sleep. Or maybe you were just exhausted. Either way, you woke up from being carried.

“Wakatoshi,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to his chest.

The two of you snuck into your dorm room, stripping down into your underwear and entangling under the sheets. Ushijima’s body was like a radiator, warm and comforting.You ran your fingers through his hair patiently. If he wanted to talk, then he would. Until then, you whispered little praises to him, pressing kisses to his shoulder between sentences.

“I won’t lose again,” he spoke quietly.

Months passed and things continued to go well between the two of you. They were better than ever honestly. During Christmas you visited each other’s families at his request. You didn’t even have to prompt it! Your parents loved him. They thought he was quite the protector type and approved. His mother ended up accepting you once she realized you were intelligent and genuinely loved her son. Your personality had definitely thrown her for a loop.

Graduation was soon approaching and the two of you decided on a five year plan together. Long nights were spent discussing goals and dreams, wondering if they would be compatible with one another. He intended on going pro right after school; the Schweiden Adlers seemed most likely and they were based in Oita. You still had your third year of high school to finish, but you were applying to Kyushu University for architecture. It was in Fukuoka and closer than your other options to Oita. It was just a couple of hours by train or car. You also had plans to stick with track and field and keep your spot on the national team for as long as you could. You both had your eyes on the 2016 Olympics.

For a year the two of you managed to maintain a healthy long distance relationship.

After graduation, there were farewell and congratulatory parties almost every day, but the most fun for you was going apartment hunting, together. It was like a vacation, enjoying the beaches and hot springs. You spent a week staying at his apartment where the lease was ending soon. He said the two of you needed a new place together, that his current apartment wasn’t fitting enough for you. On your third day in Oita, Ushijima decided on the place, a 2 bed and 1.5 bath townhome instead of a one and one apartment. When you told him it was a bit expensive, he said it was perfect because he wanted you to have your own space at home to study for school without being bothered by him. You cried right there and he handled it like a champ. The two of you moved in a week before you started school.

“Wakatoshi!” you called to him from the rooftop terrace. He appeared, sticking his head out from the sliding glass door. You wiped your cheek, smudging dirt across your face. “Can you help me move this bag?”

He slipped on his outdoor shoes and walked over, lifting the bag of dirt and moving it to one of the two raised garden beds that he built earlier today. The two of you had plans for a small vegetable garden. “I thought we were going to plant seeds after lunch. I’m almost done cooking.”

“I know, I just got really excited. I was staring at your beautiful work and couldn’t help myself,” you cooed, giving him starry eyes.

Sighing, he set the bag down where you needed it before taking your hand and dragging you back inside. “We’ll do this after lunch. Together.”

“Aw, are you jealous I tried to start before you?” He didn’t say anything in response, making you grin. “My handsome farmer, I’m so sorry.”

After lunch, the two of you filled the garden beds with dirt and carefully planted seeds for carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, peas, basil, parsley, rosemary, thyme, marigolds, lavender, and scarlet plume celosia. Ushijima had done quite a bit of research on complimentary plants. Hours really. Hours spent doing online research and drawing diagrams of how the garden should be set up for its fullest potential.

You were watering one of the garden beds when you caught a glimpse of Ushijima squatting with a spade in his hand. It was so cute how concentrated he was and how much attention he was giving this simple task. Biting your lip, you sprayed him briefly. He blinked, as if not comprehending what happened and looked up, as if blaming the sky. A muffled laugh escaped you. You went back to watering the garden bed as he went inside. Minutes later you heard the glass door slide open and didn’t pay much mind to it. Suddenly you felt chilled and were thoroughly soaked. Moving your hair from your eyes, you looked up to see your boyfriend holding a bucket over your head.

“Wakatoshi!”

Soon you were off to university, moving into a small dorm room with a single suitcase. Your dorm was littered with photographs of you and Ushijima and it was hard to cope with the fact that you wouldn’t see him through at least the rest of summer, maybe not even until the end of September if your school’s track team did well.

For a month you and Ushijima would call or FaceTime every night and tell each other about your days. He was quite proud of the garden the both of you planted and would send you progress photos and then describe what he saw in fine detail. Honestly, you didn’t realize your boyfriend was capable of being so invested in something other than volleyball. There were a few times you tried spicing up your phone calls, but honestly Ushijima didn’t get it. He was terrible at phone sex. It was fine though. Summer break was.... just a few months away.

It was a Saturday night after track practice when you got a phone call from your boyfriend.

“Wakatoshi! You’re calling early. I haven’t gotten back to my dorm yet,” you spoke, excited to hear from him.

“(Y/N), I’m lost.”

Your brows raised in surprise. “Lost, how? Do you need me to look up how to fix something?”

“No, I’m somewhere on your university’s campus.”

You felt your heart skip and you immediately ran toward main campus. “Okay well tell me what you see.”

In thirty minutes you were in your dorm taking a shower and Ushijima was reading the newest shonen jump he picked up at the train station on your bedroom floor. You came out with your hair in a towel and one of Ushijima’s t-shirts you had stolen. He set aside his magazine and pulled you down into his lap, holding you tight.

“I’m so surprised you came. I’m so happy,” you squealed, burying your face into his neck and running your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you too. I can stay for two days, but then I must go home.”

Pulling back, you let your fingers run over the stubble on his jaw, pouting a bit, “So what do I owe this short visit?”

His stare was intense and a faint blush kissed his cheeks. “I recognize that a few times you’ve tried to... initiate some things on the phone. I admit I’m not very good at it, so hopefully my presence now can make up for my... lack of experience.”

“Wakatoshi,” you breathed out in surprise, gazing at him with so much love. He literally traveled almost three hours because you were horny without him. Pulling the towel from your hair, you knocked him over onto his back as you jumped him.

Visits like these happened sporadically and soon it was fall. Track and field season was over which meant you could make your weekend visits home to Oita. You’d leave Wednesday nights and head back to school on Sunday mornings. Despite the second bedroom serving as a private study for you, you found yourself curling up to Ushijima almost always - as long as he wasn’t busy.

This was life for a couple of years. The two of you had become quite the duo. In fact, throughout your relationship, you had only argued about two things:

You broke your phone once and he wasn’t able to contact you and he freaked out from not knowing what was going on.

He forgot your anniversary and cancelled on your date for volleyball and you laid in on him for it.

Things were great until the 2016 Olympic qualifiers came around. You had broken a metatarsal in your right foot at the first qualifying meet of the 2015 season. You were out for the next eight weeks and even then, you weren’t going to be in shape to qualify because you had to go through physical therapy and get your athletic abilities up to par. Your coach told you that staying on the national team, going pro, and qualifying for 2020 was still possible for you. It didn’t stop the feeling of complete and total devastation that wrecked you and you were jealous.

Ushijima wasn’t sure of how to help you; he’d never seen you so vulnerable before, never seen you so sad, but he did his best to support you, even if that meant being a punching bag. He was consistent, despite things he had going on for his own Olympic goals.

After two months it was summer break. You had to go through physical therapy and you moved back home to Oita, transitioning to online classes for the second term of the year. Because Ushijima’s love language was different from most, you found yourself being forced to do your PT homework exercises, no matter how down and bratty you got.

“Wakatoshi, I don’t want to do stairs,” you groaned, curling up into a ball on the couch.

“You must, or you won’t be ready to start training any time soon,” he replied simply.

Your foot was throbbing and you were on your period, and everything just felt like shit. All you wanted was to watch anime and eat the small bag of chips you had hidden under the blanket you were under. Ushijima had been so strict with your diet and honestly all you wanted were trans fats, sugar, and carbs. With ease, he ripped the blanket from you, exposing you in your underwear clutching a bag of Calbee honey butter flavored potato chips.

“You should get up and walk the stairs now,” he said, prying the bag of chips from your hands, “if you want these back.”

Throwing your legs over the couch, you winced, balling your hands into fists in frustration. You got up, favoring your left foot, which he noticed. He walked up the stairs and sat on the top step, waiting for you to follow. Biting your lip, you moved slowly, trying to ignore the pain. There were 14 steps to the top and you had to go up twice and down twice. You were doing fine until your second trek up the stairs. It was a misstep and you slipped and you were clinging to the stair case, crying. It was embarrassing for you to be like this in front of him. This sweet giant quickly enveloped you in his arms and had you lying on your side of the bed, gently caressing your foot as you sobbed through it.

When you were calm again, Ushijima left for a while before returning, dinner in hand. The two of you sat in bed and had the meal he made in silence. You’d barely eaten, but you waited until he finished before you curled up to his side.

“I’m so sorry, Wakatoshi.”

“I would be surprised it you took this easily. You’re a competitive person. It’s one of the things I find attractive about you,” he replied. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, his fingers gently running up and down along your own arm.

“Really?” you asked, feeling shy. He hummed in affirmation, glancing down to make eye contact. Smiling, you played with the hem of his shirt that was beginning to ride up. “What else do you... find attractive about me?”

“You’re thoughtful, kind. The way you pursue your passions and you’ve encouraged me to pursue my own; you believe in people wholeheartedly.” A thoughtful expression settled on his face as he spoke on effortlessly. He paused and his brows furrowed briefly before settling into a relaxed expression. “You’re beautiful.”

Placing a kiss to your forehead, you watched as he got up and headed to take his evening shower.

While you couldn’t compete, you concentrated on therapy and school and finished your courses early for your degree. You picked up a simple class to stay enrolled until your four years at school were up*, this way you could go back to competing your last year of university. The summer of 2016, Ushijima took you with him to Brazil. Japan didn’t win, but the competition was incredible. You got to meet with track and field athletes and it reignited your passion for competition.

You’d graduate come spring and then your focus was on 2020 Tokyo.

*In Japan, early graduation doesn’t exist. It was explained to me that if you attend a 4 year university, you have to be a student for 4 years before graduating, even if you complete your degree early.

tag list: @hihiq

#Ushijima Wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #shiratorizawa #my senpai #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyū!!#reader insert #imagine #fanfic #volleyboys

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asgardian--angels · 4 years

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My Syracuse Pollinator Garden - Year 2

Hi everyone! I’m sure a lot of us are facing stress during these troubling times and so as I’ve mentioned before, gardening is an excellent way to take your mind off of current events, de-stress, reflect and connect yourself with nature while remaining in the safety of your own property. Last year, when I moved into my Syracuse apartment (technically a room in my landlady’s house; I’m here for grad school), I was granted permission to start a pollinator garden. I am a pollinator ecologist slash conservation biologist so I bring some expertise with me here. I say this because I always encourage anyone who sees this and is curious about doing it yourself to come and ask me questions! I highly recommend you check out last year’s post which thoroughly goes over 1) the principles of gardening for pollinators and wildlife, 2) resources to help you learn more and get started, 3) what plants I have in this garden, and 4) how it progressed over the course of the summer in 2019. Unfortunately, because of fieldwork and coursework I had trouble keeping up with it regularly so I think I missed a fall installment. I intend to be more thorough this year. Quite a lot has already happened, and I will review it the best I can and from this point forward, attempt monthly updates.

I also want to mention that I’ve learned a lot since last year too - better ways of doing things, since I’m not a landscaper. Such as, you don’t have to break your back digging up turfgrass for hours on end. Instead, you can smother it for three months with old newspapers and get rid of it that way. It’s also important to note that the way I have my garden laid out is not ideal for a pollinator garden, it doesn’t follow every recommended principle. That’s because I had limitations and conditions under which I had to work, given that it’s not my own land and I had limited funds. But any effort is better than nothing, so don’t think that just because it’s not perfect, it’s not worth it. It is! You can always build, change, or improve upon it later.

In the second year of a new garden with perennials, you can expect a lot more vibrant growth - the plants have established root systems and can put more energy into above-ground growth and flower production. Thus, I was thrilled to see my plants growing more vigorously than before!

MARCH

Here in central New York, March was still freezing, wet, and snowy. But, by the end of the month, the garden was starting to show signs of life, sending up the first shoots of hardy native perennials.

In particular, the Jacob’s ladder already had quite a lot of new growth, with the nodding onion and yarrow close behind. In my herb garden, the chives had erupted with force from the leaf litter. The yard was still messy, with dead stems and fallen leaves blanketing much of the ground. My landlady insists I clean these, but if it’s your choice, leave the leaf litter around where you can. It’s important habitat for invertebrates and returns nutrients to the soil as it decomposes.

APRIL

The world was beginning to wake up. I had cold-stratified hundreds of seeds of native plants I’d collected last fall, and it was time to take them out of the fridge. The wild cucumber (Echinocystis lobata) had already sprouted, so I planted them in pots. The rest, I put in a seed starter tray.

Next, within the first few days of April, male hornfaced bees (Osmia cornifrons) started emerging in multitudes from my bee hotel. These are a non-native, but naturalized, species of mason bee common in suburbia and they are the most frequent users of bee hotels in the northeast. I watched as they dug through the mud cap on their natal nests, peeking out with fresh eyes at the sun for the very first time. I felt like a proud parent. (You can see more pictures here)

At the same time, male Dunning’s mining bees (Andrena dunningi) were patrolling the new nest sites of females, dug in the soil between the stones laid down near the front door.

There wasn’t much for these bees to forage on yet, mainly the wild violets that grow each year on the lawn and my landlady’s invasive vinca. But many more of my perennials had started to come up, and I decided it was time to cut the dead stems.

It is best to cut dead stems back in April or so if you’re in a northern clime; the purpose of this is to offer nesting places for stem-nesting bees, which will start flying in April and May. Don’t cut them to the ground, give them several inches. Leaving stems through the winter also allows birds to forage on the seedheads.

Towards the end of April, despite several more snowstorms, the barren strawberry began to bloom.

I also saw the emergence of the female hornfaced bees, with males pursuing close behind. It is advised that you discard a bee hotel after the bees have emerged, or else they will try to nest in it again, which can lead to high mortality rates, as an old structure harbors parasites and is generally dirty.

MAY

May was a month of excitement. Given that I have been at home almost every day instead of being on campus, I was able to closely monitor the progress of the garden, apart from a week spent at home for my birthday. The dandelions dotted the yard, attracting gynes of common eastern bumblebees (Bombus impatiens) and the first honeybees (not native, need I remind you).

Alongside the dandelions was ground-ivy, which sent up stalks of purple flowers also used by the bumblebees. Almost all my plants had sprouted at this point.

My wild cucumber, which is a vine, had grown so rapidly that I couldn’t give it support fast enough, and eventually it decided to wind itself around my drapes. I brought one home as a gift for the parents, and placed the other two outside and snaked them around the front banister. However, despite my best efforts, only two other seeds from the hundreds I cold-stratified sprouted. A disappointment for sure; I was hoping to have swamp milkweed in the yard. But, there’s a chance for the wild hibiscus! Alas, with new growth comes deer, traipsing through the yard each night intent on nibbling my natives. They hit the columbine heavy this year as they did last year, and that stunted its growth and prevented it from flowering on time. I managed to protect it by putting a recycling bin over it each night. From the 7th to the 17th, I went home and visited a local native nursery.

There, I picked up a new plant for the garden - scarlet bee balm, Monarda didyma. I already have bee balm (M. fistulosa), but this species blooms red and is attractive to hummingbirds.

When I got back to Syracuse, I was astounded to find how quickly everything had shot up.

Among new blooms were the Jacob’s Ladder, woodland stonecrop, and finally, the wild columbine. The chives and thyme began to flower as well.

The milkweeds were one of the last to come up, being late to break dormancy. But once they did, they grew like lightning, gaining a foot in a week.

I planted my row of annuals (cosmos and sunflowers) along the walkway, and added beans to my herb garden. The dill and basil sprouted and once they get a bit bigger I’ll transplant them outside.

Then, in late May, I visited my advisor’s farm, and he gave me two new plants for the garden, from his own land - Golden Alexanders (Zizia aurea), which is a lovely yellow-flowered member of the carrot family which blooms in spring, and the classic purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea). They transplanted well.

Honestly, everything is doing better than I could have hoped. What were ungainly spaces between the plants last year are starting to fill in as they grow more vigorously - the single-stalked milkweed I put in last May is now 17 stalks, and I see seedlings of the biennial brown-eyed susans coming up all around it in a three foot radius. Even the purple prairie clover which was eaten to the ground by rabbits last summer has miraculously returned. The only thing I am still waiting on is the bottlebrush grass, which remains dormant. It’s a warm-season grass, so I hope as we get sustained high temperatures in June, it will come back! But its seedlings too are popping up all around the beds.

And this sums up spring! It has become cold again for the week, but that won’t halt the growth once it’s started. The New England aster is almost half as tall as me, and my black raspberry has flowered and hopefully will produce a small handful for me to enjoy!

Check back in late June for another update on the garden!

#pollinator garden #pollinators #bees #nature #gardening #mine

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

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Daniel Michaelson: Beaten/Numb

(for @whumptober2019 - combining yesterday and today’s themes of Beaten and Numb - plus @pinkcupboardwitch’s excellent suggestion of psychological whump/mind games. TW: Serious injury/violence and physical abuse, noncon touching, noncon kissing, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced noncon, I really cannot emphasize enough that Abraham Denner is a bad bad man)

“Red!”

Abraham’s voice echoes across the small clearing and Daniel’s head jerks up instantly where he kneels in the dirt, a bit of red hair flopping over one eye, wincing as the sudden motion aggravates the new bruises around his neck from last night.

“Come here, boy!”

I’m not your fucking dog, you piece of shit. I am twenty… something years old - how old am I? I don’t remember anymore, why don’t I remember how old I am…

No. Stop it. Those aren’t the right thoughts. Be good, Red. It doesn’t matter that you can’t remember things. All that matters is that he wants you now.

You have to be good.

You want to be good.

He’s been carefully looking over the last few carrots from the spring planting, trying to decide just by looking at the thin green tops if they’re ready to pull for tonight. Abraham has a venison roast out of the freezer thawing in the sink - he likes roasts if you put onions, carrots, and potatoes in and cook it forever, until all the vegetables have gone soft and taste like the meat and the venison is as soft as beef.

Daniel knows how to cook everything just the way he likes. He can’t remember if he likes roasts or not - there’s never enough food, and he takes what Abraham will give him and he’s grateful for it.

Thank you for letting me eat, Abraham.

He lets his fingers trail across some carrot leaves, frowning at the lack of sensation he feels. After living here and being forced to use harsh cleaning chemicals and bury his hands in boiling water - after Abraham’s knives and the barbed wire and worse - Daniel can’t really feel much with his hands at all.

It doesn’t matter. His hands work well enough for gardening and cleaning and cooking and worse - and sometimes the lack of feeling is a relief. None of it matters, nothing matters, just that Abraham is calling, and he needs to stand up, but he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to go.

Because he’s not a fucking dog.

Part of him still wants to refuse, even knowing what happens when he does, even knowing there are worse things than a little bit of cutting that can be done to him.

His heart is speeding up with his anger, pounding into his chest, and that’s not good; Abraham wants him to want to be his good boy, to be happy to be called, not pissed off.

He practices breathing in: inhale - I’m not a person, just the puppy - hold for five, exhale - no one wants me but Abraham now - inhale - My family thinks I’m dead and no one is looking for me - hold for five, exhale - I love Abraham and I want to be good - and feels his heart start to slow, a little, the dangerous anger starts to fade out, replaced by the way Abraham wants him to think.

Part of his brain wails that none of it is true, the thoughts Abraham feeds into his mind with the breathing exercises, at the end of a knife, licking the blood from his throat. Part of his brain wants to scream that there has to be some way out of this hell, but he tries not to listen, because there isn’t, and telling himself there is might make him less numb.

His body isn’t his own. His life doesn’t belong to him. If he starts trying to fight that knowledge again, he’ll scream and scream and never stop.

Be good. Be Red.

Red is numb.

Red is a good boy.

“Oh, little Reeeeeed… come here, boy…” Abraham’s voice is a singsong, but he doesn’t like to call twice. If he has to call three times, that’s breaking a rule.

Always answer when Abraham calls.

“Coming, Abraham! I’ll, um, I’ll be right there!” He glances over at Nate, who is wearing waterproof boots, real pants meant for the outdoors, a heavy shirt to protect against the hint of chill in the spring air, and gardening gloves, digging up some potatoes and tossing them into a basket next to him.

Nate moves slower than he does, thanks to the one busted hand. He has to dig with the little shovel, lay it to the side, pick out the potato, and then pick the shovel up and do it again, since the other can’t quite close enough to grip.

The two of them meet eyes, warm blue on mossy, faded green, uncertainty and more than a little worry written across both of their faces. “Wh-what do you think he wants?” Daniel asks, in a low voice he knows won’t carry far.

With Nate, he’s still a person, just for a few seconds at a time - in stolen kisses and touches while checking traps together, in furtive moments when Abraham sleeps and Nate comes to lay with him on the living room floor, in the old movies they watch sometimes and laugh along with.

On the best days - when Abraham leaves them alone while he goes on supply runs (Danny still securely chained to the living room wall, he’s not going anywhere, and Nate won’t ever leave again, they all know that now) and Nate teaches Danny how to waltz, to tango, to do all kinds of dancing with his chain scraping the floor.

Sometimes they talk about Nate’s career as a professor and how Danny wanted to be an anthropologist. They break the rules and think about a life other than this.

Then, and only then, does Daniel let himself stop being good and really just let himself be Daniel, the person that used to live in his body, when he didn’t have to be good, when he didn’t want to be.

When he lets the careful numbness crack and tries to find happiness, because he’s going to be here until he dies and if he can’t sometimes be happy he’ll lose his fucking mind.

But then Abraham always comes back, and his voice is back in Danny’s head and his hands are on his body, the body that doesn’t belong to him, it belongs to Abrahm Denner because Daniel Michaelson doesn’t exist any longer, just Red - and Red only exists for Abraham, to be hurt whatever way he wants, forever.

Nate only looks away from him, back to the potatoes. There’s a moment where his jaw becomes a hard line and the green eyes go flinty and angry. Then he slumps forward and goes back to work, slowly shaking his head. “D-d-doesn’t matter. You h-have to a-a-answer.”

“I don’t want to,” Daniel whispers, because he can say disobedient things to Nate and know that he’ll never tell Abraham he said them, thought the wrong way, didn’t want to be good. “I don’t ever want to, Nate. I don’t… I don’t want to try harder.” He drops his voice to a whisper, says the words he’s never, ever allowed to say. “I fucking hate him.”

“I kn-know, Danny-” Nate catches himself with a wince, even though there’s no way they were overheard. “R-R-Red. Sorry. I’m w-w-w-working on it, oh-okay? I’m t-trying to f-f-figure it out I, I h-h-have an idea, but… Go on b-before he g-g-gets mad.”

Working on what? What are you figuring out? He doesn’t dare ask. Nate might be having disobedient thoughts, too, fighting the same anger deep within himself that Daniel fights each and every day, the person he used to be screaming to get back out.

Daniel shoves that person even further away, buries him under the puppy. The puppy doesn’t think the wrong things, the puppy wants to be good. Abraham will know if he’s not being the puppy, he’ll know, and then the memory of last night’s fingers squeezing the air from his throat will be the least of his problems.

He hops up to his feet, turning and half-jogging across the yard, trying to be visible to Abraham as soon as possible, to prove that he really is answering the order immediately, just the way he wants. His throat aches as he takes in deeper breaths but he ignores it. He’s good at ignoring it by now, at letting all the different places he feels pain run together into a comforting nothing-feeling.

He’s good at it, but the person-thoughts trickle back in.

I used to be a person. I used to be more than this. There used to be more to living than trying to figure out the next way he’s going to hurt me. I have a little brother, he’s still out there somewhere looking for me.

Stop it. Never think of any life before or after this one. This is all there is. No one is looking. Noe one cares. Everyone thinks you’re dead. You know the rules, Red, remember the rules.

Never think of any home but this.

There used to be a home other than this.

God damn it, no, there isn’t any home other than this, not for me, not ever again.

“I’m, I’m right here, I’m coming right away, Abraham, I’m coming!”

Abraham laughs, the braying sound bouncing off the trees, and Daniel winces but doesn’t slow down as it settles into his bones, crawls under his skin, until he can feel the echo in his fingernails and down to his half-frozen numb toes in the wet grass.

Abraham can turn even obedience into something to laugh at - make out of his willingness to do as he was told a joke about the phrasing of his words, and he feels the grime that lives eternally on his skin all over again.

Dirty and empty and hollow but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, what matters is that Abraham wants him right now and he needs to be good.

The metal cuff on his ankle shifts as he moves, a flash of old pain as the metal rubs against the skin that’s been some version of raw or open or scarred since he came here, and he can feel the slightest chill in the air right through the threadbare T-shirt and pants he always wears. He’s barefoot - it’s warm enough not to waste boots on the puppy, Abraham said this morning, and even though his feet and his toes are so cold they’ve gone numb, he doesn’t dare disagree.

If he’s good, he can get his feet close to the fireplace and warm them up later, maybe. Or at least take a bath, but Daniel doesn’t like baths, because Abraham always watches him. Makes comments. Sometimes pushes his head under the water in the giant old clawfoot tub. Sometimes does worse than that.

He’s not really supposed to not like it, because he’s supposed to want whatever Abraham wants, even though he hates it - hates his eyes and his hands and his fucking mouth - and…

Daniel stops himself from thinking, slowing to a trot, trying to breathe.

He has to force himself to focus, to think of the ache in his left side, the bruising around his throat. Focus on it, use it to settle his heart, to push away the anger that might otherwise boil out of him and end with being in trouble again. If he can’t calm down, there would be more ways he could be hurt, there would be worse than what’s already been done.

He can be made worse than broken.

There are so many things worse than dead, and Abraham knows them all.

Inhale.

I will never leave here.

Hold for five counts.

Exhale.

I want to be good.

Abraham is standing over along the side of the cabin, near the cellar, and Daniel skids to a stop twenty feet away, his face carefully set into his usual eager-to-please nervousness, trying to hide the disobedient, roiling thoughts underneath the surface.

The cellar doors are open.

No.

I don’t like the cellar. The cellar is dark. I don’t like the dark.

“Wh-why, um, why is the cellar, the-…” He trails off, voice cracking. “Abraham, I-… why are you, I don’t like to see those doors open, I don’t want-”

all alone in the dark, all alone all alone all alone

“No one gives a fuck what you like or want, puppy. Why did you stop so far away?” Abraham has his head tilted slightly to bask in the weakly warm sunlight of spring. The yellow sunshine make his skin seem even whiter, less human than it normally does - brings out the suggestion of deep shadows underneath the high cheekbones, turns his light eyes into glittering opaque glass Daniel cannot read, like the sheen of ice on a lake.

There are things underneath the ice in Abraham Denner’s eyes. Dark things that drag Danny under into the cold water, to keep him there forever.

“I, um, I stopped because I saw the cellar-”

“Why would that bother you, puppy?” Abraham smiles, a bright smile that shows his teeth, only a shade whiter than his skin. It’s never a good sign when he smiles like that. It’s never a good sign when he doesn’t, either.

“It, um, I don’t… I don’t like the cellar-… when you put me in the, the cellar, you, um, you leave me there.”

“Only when you’re bad, little Red. Are you going to be bad today?”

“No! No, I won’t!” Danny swallows back revulsion at the nervous fearful whine in his own voice, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt in a helpless, childlike way he can’t seem to stop. “I won’t. I’ll be good. I want to be good for you, Abraham, you know, you know I want to be good now. J-just like Lyken says, in the show, I want to be good.”

Please please please not the cellar, please

“Hmmm… you’re so good at saying what I want to hear, aren’t you? But you’re still too far away. I said come here, Red.” Abraham holds out one hand, white fingers curled slightly, a clear command, invitation, and thread all in one.

Don’t hesitate, never hesitate, never reject a touch.

Daniel’s body jerks into automatic motion before his brain can catch up and remind him that he hates this - this place, this man, the breathing exercises, every single fucking thing about his life but Nate - and instead he keeps his eyes on the open cellar, on the yawning gaping black hole in the ground, the first few rickety steps visible, maybe a patch of the dirt floor beneath if he stood close enough.

He doesn’t want to stand close enough.

alone in the dark

Never hesitate when Abraham wants you, his brain shrieks the reminder, alarm bells ringing. He made him call twice already, he stopped too far away, he’s courting disaster if he hesitates now. He steps forward and ducks his head, leaning his face into Abraham’s touch.

A cold palm rests against his cheek, Abraham’s thumb pressing just a little into the scar that curves over his cheekbone, long fingers just brushing his earlobe. He swallows against the surge of nausea, forces it back before it can make him go any paler than he already is.

Puppies don’t get sick at their owner’s touch.

“Good boy,” Abraham says in a low, pleased rumble, and Daniel tries to feel reassured by it and not dirty and ashamed. For a second, there’s only silence and the vaguest hint of breeze moving his hair, the chill that seems to slip right through the thin cotton of his clothing, raising goosebumps on his arms and making him shiver. “That’s my very good boy. I want to ask you something, little Red - and it’s very, very important that you be honest with me.” Daniel tries to breathe.

I love Abraham and I want to be good.

No one will ever find me here.

“Wh-what do you want to ask?” Abraham’s hand slips down from his face and drops slowly to his throat, curling around, fingers placing themselves perfectly over the bruises, following the map laid out of exactly where Abraham had cut off his air last night.

The barest bit of pressure against the mottled bruising makes a fresh new wave of fear run through him as he gasps, and he’s not choking - he’s drowning. It’s not the lack of air - it’s the overwhelming frozen touch, the look in those odd nearly-colorless eyes, that pulls him under the water for the dark things to devour and holds him there.

“Pl-please don’t-… don’t do that again,” Daniel whispers. “D-Don’t take my air, please, Abraham, I, I need the air…” He’s taking in what breath he can, hands clenching into fists to keep himself from trying to grab at Abraham and pull himself free.

It won’t work, and he’ll just get in trouble for breaking the rules.

“I don’t have to, if you answer my question. Little Red, would you like to go in the cellar today? Just for four hours or so?”

every time he puts me down there, they go, they’re gone for weeks and it’s harder and I get so weak, I get so hungry, I ran out of water last time, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t, I can’t, please no, please not the dark

“No!” It’s more an exhalation than a sound, whistling air around the grip on his throat, the aching of the bruises. He’s taller than Abraham, but staring into his eyes always makes Danny feel so fucking small. “I don’t, I don’t want to go down there, please, Abraham, please don’t make me.”

“No? Only for four hours and you say no?” The hand leaves his throat, sliding along the edge of his shirt’s neckline, trailing along his shoulder. Daniel shivers and holds himself still, dropping his eyes down to the ground, hands still at his sides.

“I, but-…” But what if you’re lying and you leave again. He can’t say the words, because suggesting Abraham is lying is disobedient, but sometimes he does lie. Lies and puts Nate in the car and leaves Danny in the cellar with his hands tied for a month until he runs out of food and begs and begs and begs and somehow Abraham always seems to know when Danny is about to lose his mind from the isolation and hunger and thirst and reappears to take him back up the stairs, dirty and frightened and full of the need, the deep deep need, to be so good it never happens again. “But I, I can’t go down there, I hate it-”

“Poor thing, you’re so scared of the cellar, aren’t you?” Abraham’s voice is sweet, and loving, and Daniel hates this voice most of all - it’s a lie, Abraham hates him, only loves hurting him, because there are things like Danny in the world that only exist to be hurt. “What kind of grown-ass man is scared of the dark, little Red?”

He knows what Abraham wants him to say. He knows, and he hates it, and the person part of his brain tells him to spit in his face, punch him, give him another black eye and take his punishment afterward. But the person-voice is getting very, very small and weak compared to the, to the…

“I’m not a grown-ass man,” Daniel mumbles down at his feet. “I’m just the puppy.”

There’s a silence, and he glances up from behind a curtain of wavy red hair to see Abraham smiling at him, a wide and beaming, proud smile. Danny had, after all, just done a perfect trick. Like putting up his paws to beg for a treat. Roll over, sit, stay, that’s what’s left of Daniel Michaelson.

Daniel’s face burns with humiliation.

“That’s my good boy,” Abraham breathes, and Daniel shudders at the joy in his voice, the way the touch of his fingers changes, becomes more intense somehow, more purposeful.

Daniel turns his head to the side when Abraham’s hand slides up into the back of his hair. He never pushes him away. He never fights back. He closes his eyes, slowly, trying to focus on the way his eyes feel when closed, how his eyelashes are long enough that he can almost feel them brush his skin - he tries to deaden his skin to Abraham’s touch, to not even notice any longer.

Be numb. Be good. Go away in his head and come back when it’s over, when whatever it is Abraham intends to do is over.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Abraham murmurs. “I know what you’re up to, and you know I don’t like that. No escape for you.” The fingers tighten suddenly in his hair, he’s gripped on until Daniel can feel a flash of pain in his scalp and the velcro-like rip of a bunch of hair being pulled out of his skin, yanking his head backwards hard until his back is arched and his eyes fly open to stare up into the blue sky above.

Breathe. See the sky? The sky is still there, no matter what happens to him. No matter how small or inhuman or broken he gets, the sky is still there.

Let him do whatever he wants. Be good.

No one is coming to save you.

“I was thinking I would give you a choice,” Abraham spoke mildly, as though he wasn’t tearing Daniel’s hair out with the strength of his grip, slowly forcing his head further and further back until Danny finally realized what he wanted and buckled his knees, dropping like a stone to kneel in the dirt.

Cold damp from the wet grass began immediately to soak into the knees of his pajama pants, along the front of the shins. He kept his hands carefully at his sides, and now, staring up from the ground, he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking right into Abraham’s face as the man leaned over him.

“I’m bored and I want to play a game. You don’t get choices very often, do you?”

Danny tried to shake his head but it only pulled on the grip on his hair and he hissed in pain and went still again, swallowing, his throat aching as if to remind him that his hair wasn’t the only injured place right now.

There was never just one injured place, really.

“N-No Abraham, puppies don’t get choices. They, they like when their owners choose. I b-b-belong to you, so you, um-… You choose because you, you own me, my body, um… I’m just the puppy.“ He recites the words automatically, rewarded with a loosening of Abraham’s fingers, breathing a sigh of relief as sharp pain went back to a dull ache. “What, um, what kind of choice are you going to give me? What’s the game?”

He didn’t want to make a choice. If he didn’t have to make a choice, he felt safer, none of it was his fault or his responsibility. It was all being done to him, and Daniel had learned how to handle that, to go away in his head and let it happen to someone else.

Making a choice made him part of it.

“You’ll like this, puppy. You can choose to go in the cellar for four hours…”

Daniel whines in the back of his throat, a helpless unconscious sound of fear, shifting where he kneels in the dirt. The yawning darkness along the side of the cabin has a physical weight in the back of his mind, a constant drumbeat of panic and the dark things and the pressure he knows will settle over him down there, the buzzing static nothing, the dwindling apples and water day by day by day until it’s gone and still he’s all alone…

“Not your favorite option? Well, maybe you’ll need to think that over. You can go in the cellar for four hours, unharmed, just put your handcuffs on… or… We can learn about something else.”

“Wh-what?” Daniel will do anything, anything to stay out of the cellar, anything at all, and he looks up with a desperate plea in his eyes. “I, whatever it is, Abraham, if you, if you’ll let me choose, I-”

“Ever had your shoulder dislocated?”

Daniel blinks, and the fingers finally leave his hair entirely and brush down the back of his neck, along the line of his shoulder, then back down to his shoulder blades, rubbing at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Uh, um, I… n-no, no I haven’t.”

“Oh, let’s find out, shall we? Last night when I put my hands around your neck you pulled away from me. You’ll know better than to pull away from me next time, won’t you?”

Daniel takes in a deep breath - or tries, but he can’t manage more than a gasp. “I, um. You’re going to- to pull out my shoulder?”

“Dislocate it. Then I’m going to hang you by your arms in the smokehouse until the sun goes down. It’s only nine-thirty, Red. That’s a lot of hours to hang by a dislocated shoulder. Or… four hours in the cellar. That’s not so long, is it, to live in the dark?” Abraham’s hand wraps around the ball of his shoulder and Danny starts to shake, unable to stop himself, to hold still like he’s supposed to.

“That’s your choice,” Abraham says, in a voice that’s nearly a purr. “Do you want to go in the cellar, or do you want to dislocate your shoulder and hang out in the smokehouse for a few hours? You choose, Red. All on you.”

If I choose the cellar he’ll leave for days again, he and Nate, and I’ll be alone in the dark.

“N-No, I don’t, I don’t want to, I don’t want to choose-”

“Sssshhhhhh. No one gives a fuck what you want.” Abraham leans down as close as he can get, licks along the shell of Daniel’s ear with his cold, cold tongue. Daniel groans unwillingly - it’s an awful feeling, the wet and the cold - but Abraham mistakes it for something else and laughs at him, breaths of cool air against his dampened skin. “Oh, you like that, huh? We can learn more about that little response later. First, make your choice. I’ll count to ten. If you don’t choose by then, I’ll come up with something even worse.”

There is always something worse that Abraham can do to him.

Daniel tries to breathe, to practice his breathing exercises, but nothing comes. Instead he only gasps, half-chokes on his own fear, staring at the blackness of the cellar, then up into Abraham’s delighted, dancing eyes.

“I, I don’t want to, I can’t choose, Abraham, please, please you choose, please don’t make me-”

“One… two… three… four…”

I love Abraham and I want to be good. Making a choice is good. Making a choice is what he wants.

I don’t want to go into the cellar, I don’t want to be alone in the dark.

Please no, please no, I don’t want to hang by my shoulder, I don’t want to do that either.

“Five… six… seven… running out of time, little Red…”

Not the dark, not alone in the dark, please God don’t leave me alone in the dark again

My shoulder’s going to hurt so much, so much

If I don’t choose he’ll do something even worse, so much worse, he can always do something worse

“Eight… nine…”

“M-my shoulder!” Danny bursts out, nearly a shout, reaching up without thinking to grab onto Abraham’s arms in supplication, staring up at him with wide, panicked blue eyes glittering with tears. “Pl-please, Abraham, I can be good, I’ll be so good for you, please just don’t make me go down in the cellar again. Please, my shoulder, we’ll do my shoulder!”

“Good choice.” Abraham presses a kiss to the top of his head, then to the side of his temples, against his cheek where the line of the scar is, licks at the notch in his jaw, down to the pulse beating wildly in his neck. “That’s my very good boy. You try very hard for me, don’t you, Red?”

“I-I do, I can try harder, I’ll try harder-”

“Good. Good, good boy. Now.” Abraham disentangles himself from Danny’s grip, steps back and puts one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his upper arm in an implacable frozen steel clamping. “Count to five out loud. On the count of five, I’m going to make you so fucking sorry you pulled away from me last night. And you keep your eyes open and on me the whole fucking time.”

Danny nods, slowly, raising his eyes to meet Abraham’s again, trying to practice his breathing, desperately trying to cling on to some calm, some sanity, as his mind screams at him to disobey, to be a person, to fucking run.

But he can’t run. He can’t fight. He can’t do anything, except what Abraham wants.

Inhale. No tears, no tears, no tears. Stay calm.

“One… t-two…”

Hold.

“Three…”

He can feel the tears in his throat, knows they’ll come out in his voice. Abraham’s grip tightens.

Exhale - shaky air, but Abraham doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t say anything, anyway, only stares right into Daniel’s terrified eyes.

Danny can feel the cellar pulling at him, wishing it had been his choice, all alone in the dark might have been better, only four hours…

But it’s never only four hours, it would be days, and he can’t be alone in the dark again.

Be good be good be good.

I don’t want to be in the dark.

“F-Four… oh god, Abraham, I can’t, I can’t, please-”

“One more, Red.” Abraham’s voice is gentle, loving, soft with affection, soothing his jangled frightened nerves. “Be my good boy and just one more number… if you take this well I won’t even leave you all day, that’s how good I am to you.“

“F-f-f-five, please, I’m so sorry I pulled away, I won’t do it again, I can try harder to be good please don’t-”

There’s a sudden horrifying pressure on his arm and shoulder, cracking and grinding somewhere deep within him, then a pop as Abraham pulls his arm apart with inhuman strength and a smile as wide as the sky. There’s a moment where Danny’s arm feels strange and loose, a half-second of horrified anticipation, and then - and then the pain hits and his brain bursts into an agonized explosion.

Danny tries to twist away from it, but that only pulls his shoulder more in Abraham’s steady iron grip, and he hears the sound of a horrible wailing scream tearing apart the air before he realizes the sound is coming from him.

The things that live behind Abraham’s eyes are pulling him down, pulling him under, and they’ll feed and feed and feed on his pain.

He is screaming so loud he cannot hear the lust in Abraham’s voice as he pets into his hair, murmuring, “That’s my good fucking boy, little Red, I wonder what else makes you scream like that…” His fingers card through the wavy red hair as Danny curls around himself, gasping - he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, the ends of his fingers on that side are tingling and half-numbed and the pain throbs and throbs into his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Pl-please, God, please, I’m so sorry, Abraham, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t, I won’t ever pull away again, please make it go back in, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll be good, I’ll be good-… oh god, oh god it fucking hurts, I’m so sorry-”

“I love you so fucking much, puppy,” Abraham speaks in a thick, throaty voice, pulling Danny to his feet as he screams again, pulling him close, nuzzling through the tears tracks and against the scars, pressing kisses as Danny cries in heaving sobs, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s too lost in the pain and the strange way his whole arm feels loose, like it could just fall off of him at any moment, the way he can’t take a deep breath, the way every nerve-ending in his body is somehow connected to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Danny whispers with Abraham’s lips on his scars, cold tongue licking up his tears. “I’m so sorry I’ll never, I’ll never, I’ll be good I want to be good, please, I want to be good…”

When Abraham kisses him, Danny’s mouth is open as he tries to gasp in breath to beg some more, and Abraham’s mouth on his is so fucking cold and steals all of what little air he can find.

But he doesn’t - he can’t - pull away.

Abraham finally pulls back, smiling at him, touching the side of his face with an expression like a proud father. “You’re so gorgeous,” He says softly, the words buzzing and dancing and bursting around and through the white noise in Danny’s head. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re hurting for me, my sweet little Red. Just two hours in the smokehouse, I think, that’s my good boy. Then I’ll help you…” Abraham presses a kiss to his forehead, laughing at the wide blue eyes that barely see him, the audible whistling gasps for breath around the ache. “And you, my darling, my sweet boy, my good puppy, can help me. You don’t need a working arm for that.”

Then he drags him by his dislocated arm towards the smokehouse across the yard, laughing every time Danny stumbles and cries out at the new flash of agony.

Nate, still working in the garden, hears the scream and jerks his head up, jaw hardening into that straight line again, teeth ground together so hard they hurt. He can only stare, hearing Danny’s pleading and begging and continued pained shrieking, Abraham’s wild, joyful laughter, braying and echoing around and bouncing off the trees.

Then he looks back down at his work, digging the next potato out of the earth with furious zeal, digging and digging and digging until his fingernails are caked with dirt and the basket is nearly full and still, still Danny is screaming.

The screams eventually coalesce into slurred words, occasional shrieks.

Nate knows what"s happening in there. Daniel, after all, isn’t the first man Abraham’s played a game like that with. Bram rigs the game, he always wins. Anyone stuck playing is always, always beaten.

Last time it was Nate - and his choice was a broken knee (I love you so much… you’ll never fucking run again, will you, baby?) or Ashley choosing what part of him to bury her knife in… and Ashley’s eyes had been staring far too long at Nate’s pelvis.

Nate swallows hard as he listens to Danny’s throaty wail, begging Abraham’s forgiveness for what he’s done wrong, promising to do better, try harder, be good, if only he’ll let him out and make it stop.

His knee begins to throb, a very old pain, in time with Danny’s pleading.

The sound of the smokehouse door slamming shut - and Bram’s joyful laughter as he heads back into the house - muffles Danny’s wailing until it sounds like nothing more than wind, until it quiets down to hopeless, hoarse sobbing.

The sun goes on shining and the sky is a beautiful, bright, clear blue.

It’s going to be a gorgeous spring, and Nate is running out of time.

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random-imagines-blog · 5 years

Text

Under The Rose {Eomer x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by:@rachelcarroll1819 Wordcount: 2701 Summary: You plan a party with your husband Eomer. Your guests include your best friends, Arwen and Samwise, their spouses, and your brother Legolas.

There were many flowers blooming, despite the rough start to Spring. However, it was the roses outside of your Rohan keep that you were looking most forward to. The roses were what set yours apart from all of the other gardens in the area - everyone knew that the ones that bloomed under your touch and care were always more beautiful, sweet smelling and even longer lasting than any other rose in the Kingdom. There were people who came from outside of Rohan to come and see them when they finally bloomed, including your two best friends, as unlikely as they were. If word got to Samwise Gamgee of The Shire, or Arwen of Rivendell, they could be expected to travel to Rohan with their families - King of Gondor included - to celebrate these roses. And you couldn’t forget about your brother, Legolas, who always came to visit you, roses or no.

Eomer walked out of the keep to see that you were looking over your garden, and wrist-deep in the fertile soil. You were never afraid to get your hands dirty, and that’s one thing that your husband loved about you. “The dawn’s barely broken, do you ever let yourself rest?” He asked, sauntering towards you, blonde hair hanging down around his shoulders. “Didn’t you stay up weeding, too?”

“Eomer, it’s almost time,” You said, smiling at him over your shoulder. He knew exactly what that meant. Did you stay up weeding because it’s almost time to hold the annual garden party at your home, yes, of course you did. You knew that the garden wasn’t exactly something that he was interested in, but it was important to you so it was important to him. “Sam might bring something up from his own garden for us, so I need to make some space. His marigolds are always gorgeous, I hope it’s those.” You realized that you were ranting, and Eomer was just looking at you blankly. You chuckled, getting to your feet and wiped your hands on the long skirt you were wearing.

“The riders are on patrol today, and I don’t have any appointments until the afternoon...” He said, suggestively. By the time that you approached him, he had a grin on his face, not just his usual smirk.

“You mean that I get the King to myself for the rest of the morning?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow. Climbing into his arms, he held you securely in his chest and carried you up the stairs, back into the warm castle that you called home. You pressed small kisses into the crook of his neck, and though of course he was on your mind as he so often was, you couldn’t help but think about the invitations you were going to send out to your friends.

He carried you into the bedroom, humming an affirmative to your question and laid you down on the bed. You laid back against the pillows, hair spread out around you. “You know that means I want the Queen to myself all morning,” He said, returning the kisses that you had given before. You closed your eyes and moaned as the sensations spread from the hair on your head to the tips of your curled toes. You quickly got over the distraction of planning the party, and focused on him and him alone.

Eomer retreated to the gardens outside once the last of his meetings were over. As he was still dressed in his Kingly attire, and had been sitting down on the throne for the last couple of hours, he was feeling stiff, and was looking forward to a stroll around to loosen up his legs. Something was different though - there was a male voice in the garden with yours, making you laugh. He turned the corner to where the benches were, under the shade of the large, sweet smelling trees.

“Samwise Gamgee,” Eomer said, seeing the mop of curly hair. You beamed up at your husband and motioned him to come and join the two of you where you were sitting. Sam stood up and behind him was revealed a just as pleasant looking woman and four young bairns. “Oh - and ... family.”

“There’s another on the way!” You said, cheerfully, laying your hand on Rosie’s round stomach. You always were a sucker for babies, especially when they were young, so having these children here and knowing that Rosie could burst at just about any second was exciting. With Eomer, children made him soften only slightly - he had a tough childhood himself and no one had ever taken it easy on him, so it was hard for him to remind himself to take it easy on them.

“Something for you here,” Sam said, fishing around in a sack that he had brought. He pulled out some fresh ears of corn from the Shire, shining as golden as the sun above. You stood up and took one out of his hand. “Usually I’d bring more but we’ve been having trouble with the carrots lately,” He said, sheepishly.

“It’s good enough for us,” Eomer said, taking the sack from Sam. “It’s going to make a good meal, once everyone else gets here.”

“I brought Lembas Bread,” Legolas said, coming around the corner that Eomer had just arrived from. He had been eavesdropping clearly, and came straight for you. Over everyone else, you were the one that your brother cared about the most, and he showed it in the way that his arms lifted you into the air as he hugged you. You laughed joyfully and wrapped your own arms around your pretty, blonde brother, having missed him over the past year. Although that year for you and Legolas had been short, it had been long to all the others, and that way of thinking had begun to rub off on both of you. “Y/N, you’re looking well,” He said, once he put you back down.

“As are you, Legolas,” You said, taking in the never-changing appearance of your big brother. “What a surprise, Lembas Bread,” You teased. Legolas always brought Lembas bread to these gatherings, mainly for Sam to take home for Merry and Pippin.

Legolas and Eomer embraced, but only for half a moment before separating. They had fought together in the Great Battles sure, but there was a discomfort in knowing that they both cared about you above all else. It almost made them competitive with one another - at least on Legolas’s end. You usually had to force Legolas to stand down, and remind him that Eomer was only human, after all.

Aragorn and Arwen were the last to arrive. You stayed standing to greet them, though you did bow down just to tease the King, who always insisted that you didn’t have to bow. He stood with the rest of the men while you and Arwen embraced and kissed each other on the cheek.

Arwen was counted among your two best friends, with Sam being the other. You agreed with your husband that it was an odd mixture of friends, but the core aspects of your personalities were the same. All three of you would die to protect your friends and the ones that you love, that was the main thing. You’d missed them terribly, and it felt amazing to have your favorite people back together again.

The next evening was filled with color as the roses finally bloomed at last. You had arranged the large table to be beneath the climbing roses that took over the majority of one of the back walls of the castle. There was an array of red, white and pink, mixing in with the golden buds of the marigolds Sam had brought and that the two of you planted together that morning. This may be the best turn out your garden has ever seen.

Arwen walked noiselessly on the cobbled garden path, holding a large silver pitcher of water for the table. “Is Rosie going to be able to walk this far?” She asked, setting it on the table.

“Sam will take care of her, carry her down if he has to,” You giggled, picturing Sam crawling on all fours with his pregnant wife sitting on his back. Arwen laughed as well, it sounding like musical bells against the quiet of nature. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she gives birth here in Rohan.”

“Can you imagine, a little newborn hobbit baby,” Arwen sat down at the table, her cheeks glowing with happy thoughts. The others weren’t due down here for another half an hour, but she knew you would be down here making sure that everything was perfect. Most of the food was still in the kitchens, being kept warm, but you already had the large plates of fruits, cheeses and finger vegetables set out for appetizers. She picked a ripe cherry tomato off of one of the plates and ate it without the littlest bit of juice dribbling from her lips. Nothing less from an elf, of course. Or from the Queen of Gondor.

“It’s nice to hear children running around in these halls - it has been much too long,” You sighed dreamily, remembering some of the laughter you heard. You had started the morning playing with the little ones so that Sam and Rosie could get some rest in. Elanor had wormed her way into your heart, and started acting like a little princess straight away.

“As you are my best friend, I’m going to let you in on something...” Arwen said, leaning in to make sure no one else would hear. “Do you remember that vision I had of Aragorn, and our son?” You nodded and leaned forward, craving the good news. “We’ve been trying - but you cannot tell anyone.”

“You’re worried that I would tell your father?” You asked, and she nodded slowly. “He would be happy for you if it happened, we all would. Or should I say will, since it was a vision and is sure to come true.”

Being an elf with a human as a husband, much like yourself, made it very difficult to have children. You’d been thinking about it since you first laid eyes on the rider on the way to Rohan. It seemed fitting that your best friend was having the same contemplations with her own husband. Despite the hardships that would come with trying, you supported her endlessly, and proved that to her with a hug - something that elves did so rarely.

You held Sam’s hands when he came out of the castle, ready for dinner, with his wife following along behind him. Tonight was what you were most looking forward to - a great meal, great friends, and the blooming roses overhead. It was a great thing that Eowyn and Faramir were in the city, and agreed to watch all of Sam’s little ones. Having them around was great fun, but also greatly chaotic - you wondered how they could handle it at all.

“Sometimes it’s nice being away from home,” Sam said, “if you’re around the right people.” You smiled at that and let go of his hands to lean in and peck Rosie on either cheek. You loved their round cheeks and their sweet smiles - there was something so happy about the couple that was entirely infectious.

“You know you’re always welcome here, and I hope to visit the Shire one day.” Sam and Rosie looked at each other and both started to laugh, making you furrow your brow in confusion. Without asking, Eomer walked behind you and put his arm around your waist.

“Normally, even humans in the Shire would look odd, but an elf?” Eomer explained on the Hobbits’ behalf. It did make sense and you giggled behind your hand. “Y/N, sometimes you forget that other places aren’t like home, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Getting into your seat at the intimate table that seated seven comfortably, you flushed and put your hand on your husband’s thigh. There was no one looking at the two of you anymore, but rather they were all fixing their plates. “You brought me to a perfect home.”

Working on dinner, the seven of you didn’t have much time for chit chat. You had provided them with a feast with all of the foods that they loved. You were particularly fond of the roast pork and vegetables that you had the kitchens whip up, salted of course with salt from The Shire that Sam had sent by rider a few months before. You also made sure that there was plenty of wine - enough to make everyone’s nose and cheeks go rosy, even Legolas’s and he had a very high tolerance for alcohol. Save for pregnant Rosie’s, of course. All around you, the smell of roses hung in the air, the fragrance enriching the senses to where it even seemed to flavor the food.

In true Kingly fashion, Aragorn and Eomer were attempting to out-eat one another. As always, you and Arwen made fun of them, sneaking more food onto their plates when they were too busy looking at each other competitively. Your husbands would be feeling that later, that’s for sure. There was even some surprise as Sam and Rosie were both keeping up, but were taking their time of it. You, Arwen and Legolas, as the elves, were more picky with how you ate, making your plates look clean and pristine once you have eaten the last morsel but you hadn’t had your plate heaping either.

You called for the maids to come clear the table once all of the food had been eaten, and suggested a walk in the gardens to help the food settle. From when they first arrived, you wanted to have some time with just Arwen and Sam, and this was the first time that it was finally materializing.

“Of course you’re the first one out of the Fellowship to have a baby,” You smiled down at Sam as you and Arwen took smaller steps to match his stride. “A few, in fact, unless - oh please don’t tell me that Pippin has reproduced.” Sam laughed at that and shook his head, his curls flying around his face. “No, not yet, but he might.”

You listened as Arwen and Sam caught up with one another, for they didn’t speak to one another as often as they spoke to you. Being more on the quiet side, Arwen mostly listened as Sam talked about his family, the Shire, the love of his home and his friends, and of course - how much he missed his best friend Frodo Baggins.

You slowed down and a hand caught yours, fingers intertwining. No other person would dare touch you like that other than your husband, so you knew immediately that it was him, and squeezed. You looked to your side to see that he had caught up to you, and under the twilight sky, he looked absolutely beautiful. His hair was loose and flowing past his shoulders, golden as the mane of the horse that he rode. His dark eyes sparkled as they always did when he looked at you - only when he looked at you. Since the moment that you first set eyes on one another in the field, while looking for the two young hobbits Merry and Pippin, a connection had been formed that a dangerous war and the risk of impending death did nothing to sever.

“Having a good time?” Eomer asked you, matching your steps.

You reached just past his ear to one of the rose vines behind him, and plucked a deep red one, narrowly avoiding the thorns. It’s scent was strong, and vibrant. You twirled it between your fingers and caught your husband’s eye once more.

“Nothing in this world could ever be more perfect than tonight has been.” You assured him, and tucked it behind his ear in a teasing manner.

#Eomer x reader #Eomer oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #Eomer #request #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #oneshots

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 25

AO3 link here

Steve decides to start a garden.

“What in the world do you know about plants?” Peggy asks incredulously when he tells her as they eat breakfast one morning. “The first time you bought me flowers, you interrogated the florist in such detail that poor Frances felt the need to catch me in the street and ask me if you were quite alright.”

Their new house came with landscaping in the front yard - grass and trees and bushes which Steve is learning to keep in good condition, if only to avoid disapproving looks from a few particular neighbors - but the back is open and plain, surrounded by a high fence. There is something about the emptiness, the crumbling dirt, that makes Steve want to fill it with life.

Their local librarian guides him over to the 635 section, where a respectable collection of gardening guides lines the shelves. He thanks her and begins picking through them.

These are the times where he misses the future. The internet had certainly caused no end of problems, but it could be so helpful too. How much simpler to be able to search “best plants for first time gardener New Jersey,” or to order a niche book on gardening for novices. Gardening for amateurs. Gardening for complete beginners.

Instead he has several rejected guides on creating Japanese gardens, a ragged victory garden handbook dirt-smeared on half of its remaining pages, a specialist’s handbook for peonies, one for roses, several for flowers he hasn’t even heard of. How to start your own apple orchard.

He ends up checking out a copy of The Lazy Gardener, hoping that that it will be close enough to what he needs. He pages through it on the bus. There are good tips in there, but the author seems to spend a lot of time dramatizing his wars with weeds and garden pests and detailing all the sweat he produces while doing his allegedly lazy gardening. He wants something more along the lines of “here is what mulch is and when to use it.”

The plant nursery at the edge of town is better.

“You’re a bit late in the season if you’re looking to start spinach or broccoli, but you can certainly get your carrots and peppers in on time,” says Mr. Westervelt.

“And tomatoes, of course,” adds Mrs. Westervelt. “And squash. Any new gardener will want those. Were you thinking of flowers too?”

“Yes, but--” He gestures at the options around them. “I don’t know what to choose.”

Mr. Westervelt adjusts his thick spectacles. “Tell me now, how much space are you working with, son?”

Thankfully, Steve had thought to measure before he left. Otherwise he wouldn’t have much to contribute.

He’s back the next day, and the next week too, paging through catalogues with Mrs. Westervelt, showing the prospective layout he drafted at the dining room table the night before, getting tips from Mrs. MacMillan and Mr. Costa. (According to the Westervelts, there’s no one better to ask for advice separately, and no one worse when they’re together: the two of them have been competing for the title of best gardener in town for about thirty years and will contradict the other’s advice just for the sake of having their own opinion.)

“First Al and Oliver, and now this. I know that it’s confusing between it all, but you are still a young man. Yet you seem drawn to older people,” Peggy comments. She has come down to the kitchen still in her pajamas with disheveled hair - a rarity; she’s usually ready to face the day before she steps foot downstairs - and wraps her arms around him from behind as he checks the plant pots he has lining the counter.

He brings one of her hands from where it rests against the skin of his chest up to his mouth. He kisses the back, her fingers. “In some ways I feel old too. But...For all that time and all I’ve seen, I think I don’t always feel certain. I like being with people who’ve lived through so much and seem to know what they’re about.”

“Well they certainly know this. And look.” She comes around to his side, leaning her hip against him. His arm wraps around her shoulder automatically. She gestures with her head to where the first lacy, pale green evidence of life is sprouting up. “They’re helping you make something new.”

Without asking, without being told, Steve comes back from the store, puts the groceries away, and decides that today is the day to put his plants in the ground.

He’d done the more difficult soil preparation a few weeks ago, so today is just for transferring the plants. He anticipates that it will be a relatively easy job. But the weather warms even more as the day goes on and he strips to his undershirt before long.

The diagram that he’d drawn, finalized in his pen and annotated with his friends’ recommendations, sits by the back door, but he doesn’t need to look at it, doesn’t flip open the notebook where he’s been jotting advice about soil dampness and ideal fertilizer. He can picture where everything will go and how he will get it there.

Despite the size of the yard and the relatively small number of plants, the afternoon slides away as he brings over each sprout, takes care with the roots as he removes them as gently as he can, settles them within the new soil. How strange, how lovely, that only a few weeks ago, they were only seeds, that they have spent this time hidden away stretching outward and becoming.

He knows the afternoon is getting later from the movement of the sun overhead, the sweat slipping down the back of his neck. He knows that he can stop, wash up, cook, finish later, but he keeps planting.

And then Peggy opens the screen door and steps down into the yard, shading her eyes with a hand.

“Is there anything left for me to help with?”

“Your dress--” he starts as she kneels beside him. His own knees are stained and damp.

She waves him off, a smile flicking at the corners of her mouth. “It will wash.”

“But who will be doing the washing?” he reminds her, smiling back before pointing to the remaining tomato sprout.

Her hands sink into the earth beside his to make a space.

When they sell the house, Steve shows the new owners the yard himself, listing some of the different plants he’s tried and which have worked best, talking about sun and shade and water, mentioning that they’d had the place nearly entirely as garden space before the kids needed somewhere to play (and to learn how to throw a punch).

“I think it will be a real treat, having all of these wonderful things we grow ourselves,” says Mrs. Shapiro, beaming. She was the one who had expressed interest. Steve hopes that she’ll stay interested.

It’s late summer, not the right time to pack up any of the plants, transfer them into pots and protect them carefully for the trip. He’ll need new vegetables in the spring, the right varieties for the light and soil and weather of the Maryland house. He does have some bulbs packed away, some of his own, some from his friends: daffodils, crocuses, Peggy’s favorite lilies. He’s checked and thinks they’ll take in the new environment. He can picture the kids with their hands in the dirt, Rose taking the expert role, bossing everyone, and Emma reminding her to do the work as well, the new additions learning it all for the first time. When they get to their new home, when they’re settled, he can start again. He knows the way now.

More chapters here

#Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic #answering the question ''hey are you still Soft?'' with a resounding yes

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efrmellifer · 4 years

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Vernal

Aymeric took his time on the way home… sort of. He wasn’t dawdling, but he was taking a much longer way back to the house than he normally would. In fact, once he’d reached the Pillars, he started walking in the opposite direction of home.

But he had some things to pick up.

He was going through the list as he finally started heading for home—lamb, spring peas, a few popotoes.

“Fruits of the Shroud for the lady wife?” one of the shopkeepers had asked. “Is she missing home?”

“She would tell you Ishgard is home,” Aymeric called back, “but she misses the flavors of spring.”

“Give her my regards!”

Aymeric smiled as he nodded. “I will.”

He hoped he made it back before she’d gotten to cooking.

Blessedly, when he got in, Etien wasn’t in the kitchen. Though she hadn’t been in the sitting room, either, and that left few rooms she could be in.

Maybe she was in the bedroom, but then that opened a whole new avenue of problems—was she unwell? That certainly would make the fancy dinner less than ideal.

However, Aymeric considered instead of fretting over Etien, who was fully capable, he would go about his business and find her when he had a free moment, rather than now when he was losing daylight and still trying to juggle rapidly-warming ingredients.

So he put down the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen.

He was glad he had opted for just peas for this dish, so he could save time in not chopping carrots, when he already had to wash, peel, boil, and mash the popotoes and get the meat ready.

Still. It might have been a lot of steps, sure, but it couldn’t be that hard. After all, he was quite experienced in the kitchen.

It was almost relaxing, after a day of dull reports and constant committee bickering, to listen to the pot of popotoes boiling, the sizzling of the lamb in a pan. Getting it all into the baking dish was the last step before baking, and Aymeric completed it with a content sigh.

Once he’d gotten the dish into the oven, he left the kitchen, calling for Etien.

He heard her, faintly, from the bedroom. “Oh, I didn’t know you were home yet!”

“Etien, are you aware of the time?”

“Shite. Do I need to start cooking? When did you get here?”

He could practically hear her rubbing at her nose and eyes. “No, dearest, I have that handled. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! Just let me know when dinner is ready!”

“I—all right. You are being truthful, yes? You needn’t hide poor health from me, you know.”

“Truly, Aymeric. I’m both fine and telling you the truth. Do you want me to come out there now?”

“I would prefer it, yes. It shouldn’t be long until dinner is ready, anyway.”

He heard some thumping, a clatter followed by a quiet curse, then water running in the bathroom. Etien came out, wiping at her nose some more, and he caught a glimpse of dirt under her fingernails.

“No need to rush washing up. Do you want to go get that dirt out?”

Etien nodded, returning to the bathroom and scrubbing up all over again.

“There, all clean!” she warbled when she came back out. “Hello, by the way. Welcome home.”

Aymeric ducked to give her a kiss. “It’s nice to be home after a long day.”

“I bet. You were out a little late. Did things run over?”

“No, I stopped at the Crozier to pick a few things up.”

“Ooh, what kind of things? Or are they Lord Commander things the lady doesn’t need to know?”

He snorted. “Pray do not let the Dzemael house’s bitterness fill your ears and poison your curiosity. A few things for dinner tonight, is all. Come, I should be taking them out of the oven now.”

So she followed him to the kitchen, at his elbow as he pulled the baking dish from the oven.

The popotoes were a delightful golden brown, and none of it looked burnt… yes, he’d brand this a success, cooking-wise. But the true marker of his success would be–

He heard a tiny squeak. “Etien?”

“Good gods, Aymeric,” Etien sighed. “Is that a shepherd’s pie?”

He cast his eyes to the floor, unable to gaze at the beaming Etien was doing—it was too much like looking directly at the sun. “It is. Does it look good?”

“Darling, I knew you were talented, but this looks perfect.”

Now Aymeric was beaming. “I hope it tastes just as good.”

“I believe in you so I trust that it will,” she said with a giggle. “Why don’t we go find out?”

So they sat down, and he divvied it up. Etien dug in right away, seeming to think as she chewed.

“Is it all right?” Aymeric asked, a mix of concern and slight surprise at Etien’s reaction coloring his features.

“Mm. Mm-hhm!” Etien hummed around another bite. “It is lamb, isn’t it?”

“…yes?”

“My dad always used dzo, but this is just as good. Better, honestly. Gods, it’s good.” She was close to shoveling it into her mouth.

“I’m glad, but slow down, Etien. You might choke.”

She smiled, swallowing and taking her next few bites more slowly. “I’m sorry, it’s just so good.”

“You’re eating like you were working all day.” Now Etien’s smile looked more nervous. “…were you?”

“I might have been doing an odd task here and there,” she admitted.

“Did you go out?”

“Not for long. I wasn’t at Falcon’s Nest or anything like that.”

“Hmm. I see.”

She gave him another shaky smile. “I only hope it pays off.”

“As everything you do, I am sure it will be only an astounding success.”

There was the real, giddy smile he loved so much.

Afterward, they retired to the loveseat, cups of tea and a blanket to keep them warm, and Etien hummed happily, almost sleepily, as they settled in together.

“I didn’t actually say thank you, so thank you, Aymeric.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t even ask about the shepherd’s pie. So you must have asked around, looked it up. I just… appreciate that you pay that much attention to little things like that.”

“Did it remind you of the Shroud?”

“It did. It was little bit of springtime to fight against the snows. Oh!” She sat up, clambering off the loveseat. She dashed off—toward the bedroom, Aymeric assumed, and came back a moment later with a little… box?

“Speaking of springtime, I… made this for you.”

“What is it?” Aymeric asked, head cocking.

“A miniature garden! I don’t know how much you miss verdant fields, but I thought maybe some flowers might be a welcome addition.”

He looked at the little plants, getting ready to flower, but not quite there yet. “How lovely.”

Etien sat down again, snuggling up close. “I hope you like it.”

“I adore every breath of spring from you,” he told her, holding the garden in one hand and wrapping the other arm around her. “These are really quite nice. How long have you been growing them?”

“A few weeks, maybe a moon,” she admitted. “I lost a few of the violets.”

“Then I shall treasure those that survived even more.” He was quiet for a moment. “Are these to remember you by when you go back to the First?”

Etien giggled. “If they served that purpose, I’d be thrilled.”

“Well, I don’t need to be reminded of you. I always think of you.”

Now she rubbed her cheek against his arm. “I always think of you, too.”

He let her shoulders go, instead using that hand to cup her chin and bring her in for a kiss, holding the flowers aloft. When they separated, he finally gave his full judgment of the gift. “I love them. But not as much as I love you.”

She felt warm enough as they held each other that was she sure she could have made the flowers bloom right then and there.

#Aytien #fic

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twistednuns · 4 years

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February 2020

I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!

Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.

A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.

Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.

More Bon Appétit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.

Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.

Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.

That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.

Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.

Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.

Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.

This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.

Carrot cake oats.

Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.

Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.

Peeling fresh carrots.

Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!

Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.

The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here… Who knows.

More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).

Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.

Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.

A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.

A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)

Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.

Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.

Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.

Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.

My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.

Blue eyeliner.

Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.

Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.

The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.

Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.

Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.

Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.

Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.

Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song… Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.

It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.

That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.

Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.

Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.

Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.

Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.

Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.

Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.

Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.

Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).

I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.

Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.

Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.

#things i love #present perfect #personal #february 2020 #february #2020

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thicctransboi · 5 years

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Almost- Part two, Grizzam FF

I promised forever ago I’d post this!!

#grizzam #grizz #sam #the society #the society netflix #the society #grizz x sam #JackMulhern #sean berdy #fanfiction #fanfic #A03

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years

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The Possibility of You

Author: Unfinished Symphony Prompt: carrots; impractical footwear Group: C A/N: This is a continuation of my Round One fic, Addendum to a Kiss.

Belle was humming.

Rumple smiled to himself as he idly turned the spinning wheel. She’d been humming a lot for the past couple months, ever since the day they’d first kissed, and the nature of their relationship had changed. Oh, how it had changed.

He still remembered every detail of their first night together, the way she asked before kissing him, if it would be okay now, and he’d told her yes, that he could protect himself and keep his power now that he knew what to expect. He could vanquish an entire army of ogres with a careless gesture, but Belle’s love for him was more terrifying than any army.

He still remembered how she’d loosened the laces of her bodice, shy and hesitant but so open, so sure of herself that this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

No one had ever wanted him like that. No woman had ever offered herself to him so freely, with no deals, no conditions, no power play in mind. Belle had given herself to him, for no reason other than because she wanted him, loved him even. It was still so hard for him to believe, but True Love’s Kiss didn’t lie.

When her nervous fingers fumbled, he’d taken over the task of unlacing. As her layers came off, he felt more and more unworthy, a swamp creature in the presence of a goddess. He wanted to extinguish the fire and candles, to hide in the darkness that suited him so well, but she wouldn’t allow it.

“If I can be brave, so can you,” she whispered, as the last of her layers fell away and she reached for his buttons.

He’d woken the next morning -- and every morning since -- to Belle’s smile. As unbelievable as it still was to him, being with him made her happy. She wanted nothing more than to be with him, in every way, at any given moment, in every room of the castle.

The Dark Castle had many rooms.

Including this one. He glanced over to where, only yesterday, Belle had pushed him back on the table and attacked his pants. She informed him that it wasn’t fair that he always used magic to take his pants and boots off, as it deprived her of the opportunity to undress him. She soon found out why he did it that way, when his tight leather trousers and impractical footwear proved to be more difficult to remove than she’d anticipated. In the end, she’d contented herself with opening his pants just far enough to allow her access, and climbed atop him with his boots still on.

A sprig of greenery tickled the side of his face, bringing him out of his fond memories.

He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t heard her humming come closer. Whatever she was singing to herself today didn’t seem to have words, other than the occasional la, la followed by more wordless vibrations.

“That wheel hasn’t turned for ten minutes,” she informed him. “Is your mind somewhere else?”

“You are quite the distraction, my love.” He could feel her smile as she draped her arms over his shoulders from behind and pressed close, kissing his cheek. “And what’s this?” he asked, noticing what she held.

“This is the first carrot from my garden,” she informed him. “Spring is over, summer is here, everything is growing.”

“Summer? Already?” He turned to look out the window, where the bright sunlight poured in through drapes that were always open now.

“Yes, summer,” she repeated, her eyes alight with laughter. “Time passes, even when you’re happy. You just don’t notice it as much when you’re so happy.”

He stood, slipping from her arms to approach the window and see the undeniable evidence for himself. The castle grounds were a medley of vibrant colors -- mostly green, with pops of other bright hues from the flowers that Belle had planted here and there. She’d announced her intention of planting a garden, not long after that pivotal day when everything changed, and insisted on doing it all herself, without the magical aid he’d offered.

“Rumple?” Belle was beside him, her brow creased with worry. “You are happy with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” he reassured her. “Belle, the past two months have been the happiest I’ve been since I was cursed. The happiest two months in hundreds of years, and you did that. You brought light back into my life, in every way.”

He gestured toward the window, and she smiled in relief. He knew she was remembering, as he was, the day she’d opened the drapes and fallen into his arms. In retrospect, he was hers from that day forward; he just hadn’t been able to admit it yet.

“So you say you’re happy, but something is worrying you. What is it?” she asked.

“Belle… I’m afraid I’m too happy, here with you. I’ve started to forget what I need to do, if I’m ever to find Bae again. I can’t forget about him. I lost him once, and he’s out there, and I can’t stand the possibility that he thinks I’ve forgotten him. I can’t afford to be distracted.”

“And I’m distracting you,” she concluded.

“Yes.” He sighed. “In the very best way, but yes.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back.

“You’re right. You told me about Bae, and how important it is that you find him, and I understand. I promised to help you, and instead I’ve been delaying your efforts. I’m sorry.”

“Belle… please don’t ever apologize for loving me.”

He cupped her face and kissed her, light and brief, just a shared breath to reconnect.

“All right,” she said when they parted. “No apologies. We do need to make some changes, though. We need…” She trailed off, seeming to search for the word she wanted. “Balance,” she decided. “We can still be happy together, but our focus will be on finding Bae, on returning him to you.”

“To us,” Rumple corrected. “When I find him, the two most important people in my life will be with me, and we’ll be a family, Belle. Together.”

“Together,” she agreed. “If I’m going to help, I need to know what you’ve tried so far. So why don’t we sit down with a cup of tea, and you can tell me all about it.”

They found themselves by the window this time, sipping tea in the warm sunlight. Rumple won the chipped cup they both favored, by simply poofing it out of Belle’s hand and into his own. The look she gave him said that she’d get him back for that trick later; he couldn’t wait to see what form her revenge would take. In the meantime, he sipped from the chipped cup that they tended to take turns with, and tried to think how to start.

“I have a plan,” he said haltingly. “One I’ve been working on for years.”

“You didn’t tell me that before,” Belle observed.

“I’m afraid you won’t like it,” he admitted.

She sipped her tea before setting the cup down and leaning forward to take his hand.

“Tell me,” she urged. “So I know what we’re dealing with.”

So he did. All about the Dark Curse, and everything that went with it.

“Rumple, I don’t understand. Why do you need this horrible curse to find Bae? There are other ways to cross realms, even I know that.”

“Bae went to a realm without magic. I can find other ways to get to that realm, but this is the only plan that allows me to get there and still have magic. I must have my magic, Belle. Without it, I’m powerless. I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing!” she said, vehement. “How can you say that?”

“You’ve only ever known me as the Dark One. Had you known the powerless spinner that I was--”

“I’m sure I would have known a good man, who loved his son more than anything. An intelligent man, who can surely find another way, without disrupting the lives of everyone in the land.”

“Do you think I haven’t looked?” he retorted. “This is the only way, Belle.” He squeezed her hand between both of his. “I’ll find a way for us to stay together while we wait for the Savior to arrive, and everything will work out. You’ll see.”

She searched his eyes, and seemed to make a decision. Getting up, she deposited herself in his lap and looped her arms around his neck.

“I trust you,” she said softly against his hair. “What can I do to help?”

“Perhaps you could translate some Fairy spell books for me?” he asked hopefully. “One never knows what might be useful when journeying to another realm.”

She hopped off his lap, smiling. “Show me to these books.”

As he’d hoped, the ancient texts proved to be an excellent diversion for Belle. Each day she worked diligently, translating one page at a time. Occasionally, she would bring a scroll to him with the translated text, asking if the spell might be useful in the land without magic. He praised her efforts every day, no matter how useless the spells were. The days passed and she persisted, even to the point of exhaustion. Twice in the past week, he’d found her asleep over the books.

It was well into summer and the sun was shining down on the grounds of the Dark Castle, when it had never dared before. Belle was working at the table, her quill going scratch scratch on the parchment, when she gasped.

“Rumple!”

He was at her side before she could get up.

“What is it?”

“This spell! It’s… Rumple, I think this spell can give you everything you want, without the Dark Curse. It will find Bae, and take you to him.”

“Impossible,” he scoffed. “If such a spell existed, I would have found it before now.”

“Just look at it,” she insisted, shoving the translation scroll into his hands.

He read, trying not to get excited. If Belle had translated correctly -- and he had no doubt of it -- this spell functioned as a locator and portal-opener. He was halfway down the page when his hopes were dashed.

“You need two people to cast this, Belle.” He pushed the scroll away across the table, and turned away, but her firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Yes…. a sorcerer, and someone who loves them. You have that, Rumple. You have me.” She pulled him back to the table. “Keep reading. This spell actually takes three people, but I promise, we can do it.”

Curiosity piqued, he kept reading. Not many spells required three people.

“I don’t understand, Belle. This says we need two drops of blood, given willingly, from someone born of True Love, who is both related to and wants to find the person you’re seeking. The Savior isn’t born yet, and that child won’t be related to Bae. She will have no reason to care about the fate of a boy she’s never met.”

“Do you think Snow and Charming are the only True Love couple?” she asked fondly, cupping his face in her hands. “We claim that title too, Rumple.”

“Yes, but they’re the ones expecting a baby,” he reminded her patiently.

“And so are we,” she smiled. At his open-mouthed amazement, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach.

“You’re…. You’re sure?” he stuttered.

“Very sure. We’re having a baby, Rumple. Our baby, born of our True Love. We can raise our child on stories of their big brother, and teach them to love Bae before they ever meet him. And when our child is old enough to understand, they can help us cast the spell.”

“And find Bae,” he said, in wonderment. “And we’ll all be together.”

He sank to his knees before her, to press a kiss to her stomach and the possibility held within.

#rumbelle showdown #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #round two entry #author: Unfinished Symphony #group C #rumbelle showdown 2019 #rumbelleshowdown

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thetravelerwrites · 6 years

Text

Declan (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Reader x Male Bat Monster Additional Tags: Bat Monster, Monster Lover, Sex, Oral Sex, Mild Language Words: 4183

The Traveler's Masterlist

(Declan’s Kin Character Reference Guide)

The year was just at the line of middle spring, which was the perfect time to start planting. Declan took you to the edge of a different, far away town, where you purchased as many seeds and saplings you felt comfortable enough to carry, plus some small comfort items you didn’t take from your old cottage.

Arriving back at the cave, you began to clear some of the land surrounding it and showed Declan how to hand-till the earth. Declan’s fingers were long and held up his wings, and he was unable to grab or do much of anything with them besides fly and create shelter. Luckily, his long, lower limbs seemed to possess articulated feet with two thumbs. He did most things with these appendages, including feed himself.

It took a few days of hard work, but a good chunk of land was now separated out into neat rows. Declan also took the axe and cleared some of the branches from the canopy so that sunlight and rain could reach the crops.

Once that was done, you instructed him to start laying the trees six feet apart while you started planting the rows. Each row was a different crop; carrots, turnips, beans, etc.

You planted nectar flower bushes and berry bushes along the border of the giant hollow log for Declan, as well as some different types of melon and a tomatoes, which was one of the few savory things he could eat. It was shaping up to be a decent sized garden that could feed the both of you with plenty left over, provided you kept it up well.

As you finished planting your seeds, you went to help Declan place the last few trees down. When you finished, you looked over your work with a satisfied sigh.

“This is going to be great,” You said.

“Yes,” He agreed, smiling. “I may not even need to hibernate this year.”

“You hibernate?”

“Only when food is scarce, during winter. I’d starve otherwise.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen,” You said, patting his arm. “Unfortunately, these trees won’t bear fruit for at least five years. We’ll have to look after them closely until then.”

He blinked, looking at you with one of the strange expressions he got sometimes when you said nice things to him.

“What?” You asked him.

“Do you plan to still be here in five years?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” He said, shaking his head fervently.

“Then I plan to be here,” You said, grinning at him.

The sweetest, softest smile spread across his features slowly, lighting up his eyes and making his ears twitch. You giggled and rubbed them, making him chirp in delight.

Declan was a wonderful friend and a good listener. You spent your days tending the garden together, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his life, which had been a struggle from the start, and he asked about yours. He even help you hunt; he would scale the trees and look out for game and making his soft chittering noise so as not to spook them. He may not have eaten meat, but he didn’t begrudge you for doing it.

He had seen to your every comfort, even going so far as to carve a bathtub out of a huge fallen tree so that you didn’t have to bathe in the cold river. He was more than happy to haul the water up for you and give you your privacy, sitting outside the cave every time you took a bath.

The summer passed in bliss, and harvest time came. Declan helped you pull up the crops and took you to the far away village for jars and canning supplies so you could store for the cold months, trading some of your produce in exchange. Declan seemed excited to stay awake with you for the winter, telling you he hadn’t seen snow since he was a very small child. You smiled at his enthusiasm, looking forward to it yourself, even if it was just to see his reaction.

You spent the next few days making and saving, though you had to keep him from eating his weight everyday or you’d have nothing for winter.

“Sorry,” He’d say. “Force of habit. I’m usually bulking up around this time, preparing to hibernate. My body’s is still in self-preservation mode.” And then he’d steal a handful of berries and run off laughing.

You had to admit, you’d come to care deeply for Declan. You though he might care for you, too, but he had been a perfect gentleman in the months you had stayed with him, never touching you unless you touched him first, always sleeping away from you on the ground.

Mid-autumn, the temperature began to drop significantly at night, and you wondered if Declan was cold. He had given you every soft, warm thing in his cave to sleep with, so he had nothing to warm himself, caring only for your comfort. He assured you his fur would protect him, but you still worried.

Once particularly cold night, you got up to throw a log on the dwindling fire and raked the coals back to life, and saw him shivering in the renewed firelight. You frowned, going over to wake him.

“Declan,” You said softly, waking him by shaking his shuddering shoulder gently. “Declan, wake up.”

His head popped up, the fur on the left side ruffled a bit from sleep. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes, but you’re freezing,” You said, taking one of his chilled arms and rubbing it to get some heat back into it. “Come to the nest and sleep next to me. It’ll be much warmer.”

He sat up, looking from the nest back to you. “Are… are you sure?”

“Yes, come on,” You said, pulling him to his feet. “What’s the point of staying awake to see the snow if you freeze to death first?”

He followed you to the nest and you motioned for him to step in first. The blankets were still warm for where you had slept, and he moaned loudly. You stepped in after him, careful not to step on his wings, and lay down next to him, putting your hands in the velvety fur of his chest.

Slowly, as if testing his boundaries, he wrapped his arms and leathery wings around you, pulling the blankets over both of you. You sighed and snuggled in.

“See?” You asked, muffled by his chest. “Isn’t this warmer?”

“Immeasurably,” He replied softly, his muzzle buried in your hair. He was asleep in seconds.

Autumn turned to winter, and you spent more time in the cave with Declan. The trees and bushes shivered in the cold, but no snow had fallen yet, there was just a lot of wind and freezing rain.

Declan continued to sleep in the nest with you, both of you sharing heat with each other, and he was never once inappropriate with you, though sometimes you kind of wished he was. Still, perhaps there was a good reason for why he didn’t try to engage with you and you were hesitant to push him. He had been through a lot, after all.

One morning, though, you woke up to the sound of Declan panting and grunting in your ear. Your back was against his front, and he was curled up around you. You suddenly noticed you felt movement; his hips bouncing against your clothed bottom over and over at a quick pace. You felt something nudging your thigh from behind. You turned your head and looked at his face, eyes closed, features relaxed, and you realized he was still sleeping.

A startled smile split your face and you wondered how long he was going to go on like this. After a minute, though, you called out.

“Declan. Declan, wake up.”

“Hmm?” He said, not quite waking. The motion of his hip continued.

“Declan, you’re dreaming,” You said, patting his cheek. “Wake up.”

His eyes opened, and the motion ceased. Suddenly, as if realizing what he was doing, he jumped up and pressed himself flat against the wall, his wings covering his body.

“I’m so sorry!” He cried. “I--I didn’t mean… I’m so ashamed… forgive me…”

“It’s all right, Declan,” You said.

“Oh, gods,” He moaned, covering his face. “You must think I’m disgusting…”

“No, really, it’s all right,” You said, taking hold of his arms and pulling them down so you could look at his face. “Really. This happens to humans all the time. Men and women and everyone in-between.”

“It does?” He asked, and you nodded. “It’s never happened to me. I don’t know what to do to make it go away.”

You swallowed thickly, took a breath, and said, “I could… help… if you like.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at you and panted, his eyes wide.

“But if you don’t want to, it’s all right, I just--”

“Yes!” He said loudly, before modulating his tone and breathing, “Please.”

You pulled down his wings and looked at his body. At the apex of his legs, there was a large, bright pink organ sticking straight up out of a sheath. Warmth pooled at your midsection, and you flicked your eyes back up to his.

“Lie down,” You said.

He complied, laying in the nest propped up against several pillows so that he could watch what you were doing. You went to kneel between his legs, shucking off your nightgown and underwear as you do so. The chill made your nipples harden instantly.

He stared at your body reverently, his panting becoming frantic.

“Calm down,” You said softly, petting the fur on his stomach. His breathing slowed by a mere fraction. You reached up and took his face in your hands, kissing his muzzle. “Calm down, Declan. You’re too worked up.”

“I’m sorry,�� He said, pulling your naked body close, nosing your neck and inhaling. “I’ve never done this.”

“It’s all right,” You said softly. “Kiss me.”

He does, the kiss sweet and gentle, the wings on his arms fluttering softly around you. You can feel him twitching underneath you, but his breathing calms and you pull back. He moans in dismay.

“Don’t worry,” You said, running your nails over the fur of his inner thigh. “You’re going to feel great in a few minutes.”

“What do--ohh!” He groaned long and loud as you let your fingers wrap around the head, slowly working your way down to the base. The panted started again and he spasmed underneath you. You pumped him slowly at first, letting him get used to the feeling, before lowering down and swirling your tongue in circles on the head.

His upper torso lurched forward with a gasp, his thumbs tangling in your hair, careful not to be too rough or stab you with his claws.

If this was indeed his first time, you knew he wouldn’t last long. It took some time to develop self-control in this situation, but you didn’t mind. You were just happy this was finally happening.

You had been right. It had only taken two pumps down the shaft into your mouth before he released down your throat, grunting loudly as each spasm shook his body, legs trembling.

Finally, when he was spent, he collapsed backwards onto the blankets, breathing heavily. You gently moved his wing out of the way and lay down next to him, waiting for him to settle.

When he did, he turned on his side to stare at you in awe.

“That was incredible,” He breathed onto your skin, nuzzling your breast with his muzzle, sniffing. “Thank you. Is is supposed to happen so quickly?”

“For men, it can sometimes, especially if they’re inexperienced and over stimulated,” You said, chuckling. “We can work on it.”

“We can?” He asked brightly, his ears perking up.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness. “Of course we can, love.”

His smile slipped and he stared at you with his mouth open in shock.

“Say that again,” He said in a whisper.

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“What, love?”

He nodded, taking in long, slow breaths. “Did you mean that?”

Realizing what he was trying to ask, if in a roundabout way, you rolled your eyes, smiling at him tenderly. “Yes, Declan. I love you.”

He fell upon you with a pleased chirruping noise, kissing your face and neck and chest and any inch of your skin he could reach.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. “I’m so happy! I love you, too! I love you so much!”

You laughed as his fur tickled your skin.

He stopped and looked at you with endearing earnest. “I want… to… I don’t know… what can I…?”

You understood. “Let me lay on my back, all right?”

He obliges, moving so that you can take the position he had before. He mirrored what you had done, kneeling between your upraised legs. You opened them wide, moving your feet on either side of his hips. He stared at the space there in something like surprise.

“What is it?” You asked, slightly concerned.

“It…” He started, grasping for words. “It looks like a flower… like an orchid…”

You covered your mouth and laughed a little self-consciously. Reaching down with your hand, you touch the sensitive bundle of nerves under it’s hood.

“Remember how I used my tongue?”

He looks up at you and nods.

“Do that here. Like this.” You circle and stroke it, demonstrating for him.

He didn’t hesitate, bending down and flattening his belly against the nest, holding your hips with his long digits. His long tongue flickered out and he touched it to the heat between your legs with a soft moan. Your breathing caught in your throat and he looked up at you, questioning.

“It’s good,” you gasped. “Keep it up.”

He smiled with his tongue still pressed against you and continued to swirl it around the bud. You touched your breasts and kneaded the nipples hard like dough, moaning softly at first.

You told him exactly what you needed to get to your peak, and he followed you every instruction with great fervor. He was very receptive to direction. He touched what you asked him to touch, he sucked when you asked him to suck. When you begged him to go faster, he was only happy to comply. He watched your face closely the entire time, gauging your reactions and your twitching body.

It wasn’t long before you were a shaking, screaming mess. You showed him your entrance and asked him to press his tongue into that sensitive hollow. He did so immediately, moaning loudly, the vibrations of which pushed you closer to your edge.

You reached down with your hand as he did this and massaged the nub. He watched you do this, all the while his tongue was buried inside you, contracting and slurping at you. At some point, he gently nudged your hand out of the way and took over, observing you writhe and cry out under his touch. You used both hands to hold his head, locking him in place. He didn’t complain.

As your cries intensified, he withdrew his tongue and placed his mouth over the nerve cluster, sucking hard.

You crashed into into your peak with a loud scream, thrashing and twitching in his grasp, feeling a gush of fluid come out of you that he pulled back to observe with obvious interest, still touching the nerve bundle gingerly. When you finally came down, laying limp and sweating on the nest, he chuckled a breathy laugh.

“That was beautiful to watch,” He said, pulling himself up along your body, kissing as he went. He met your lips, and the kiss was no longer gentle. It was hungry, desperate. He kissed you so hard that you both had to stop to catch your breath, lest you smother each other.

You peeked down and realized he was hard again. You reached for it and touched it. He gasped and shuddered. You slid down and tilted your hips upward, leading him forward against your entrance.

The look on his face was wild and tense, his eyes questioned you. You raised up to kiss his lips, and nod. At your urging, he begins to press into you with a long groan of pleasure. You moan against him as he slides into you slowly, carefully, inch by inch. You loved the feeling of heat insides you, a degree different than your own, the delicious pressure opening you up wide. Your fingers tangled in the soft fur of his neck, his forehead pressed against yours until he had seated himself completely inside you and growing still, panting.

“Give yourself time,” You purred to him as he began to buck against you erratically. He stilled, his muscles quivering and ticking uncontrollably. He was gasping, struggling to maintain control. Inside, he pulsed and jumped in wondrous ways, and as much as you needed him to move, you also wanted him to enjoy the experience and not rush.

After a few minutes of stillness, during which time his muscles stopped jumping, you urged him to move slowly. He obeyed, pulling himself back until he was almost out and then thrusting back in again slowly.

“You all right?” You gasped as the sensations blotted out your brain.

He nodded. “Yes,” He said, opening his eyes to gazed down into yours. “Are you? Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t. It feels so good.” You clenched your inner muscles around his shaft as proof.

He huffed and picked up speed, still relatively slow but a little more intense. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He thrust deeper, hitting that amazing sweet spot deep inside, and you moaned into his mouth. His movements were erratic again, but this time he stopped on his own and got his bearings back before he could lose himself.

“Good,” You said encouragingly.

He smiled down at you. “I’m a fast learner.”

You grinned wickedly back. “I can tell.”

He was, indeed. Now that he had a rudimentary understanding, he began to experiment a little, trying strokes and positions that you might like, pleasuring you beyond rational thought. You were so caught up in the sensations that you lost all sense of time. It felt like he had been pounding away at you for days, and you loved every second of it. Whenever he would get too close to his peak, he would pull out and suckle at you, licking and nipping until you were unable to speak, and then plunge back in.

Finally, once he sensed you were rapidly losing your ability to move, he gripped your hips tightly and thrust so hard and so fast that you literally couldn’t feel anything else. It didn’t take long for him to reach his limit, and he released again with a loud shout. You felt the hot, wet fluid shoot into you at speed.

You had orgasmed so many times that day that you could barely feel them anymore, but the feeling of him hunched over you, shaking and snarling, as he emptied everything he had into you was a whole other thing. It set off bells in your head and make your vision go black for a moment. You would have cried out from the heat, but you had lost your voice a while ago.

He collapsed onto you with an exhausted grunt and you felt him exit your body and grow limp on your stomach, slowly sliding back into the sheath. You both lay motionless for a long, long time, unable to muster the strength to disentangle yourselves from each other.

After what seems like a year, he finally lifts his head and stares at you blearily.

“I made a mess,” He said.

You huffed a laugh through your nose. “Yeah.”

“Do you enjoy that?”

You nodded sleepily but enthusiastically. “Very much so. But I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

He laughed gently and tried to stand. It took a couple of attempts, and when he managed to find his feet, he staggered a bit. There was pearly white fluid clinging to the fur of his stomach and down his legs. You snickered a little.

“I’m going to go get some bathwater,” He said, stumbling to pick up the pails and yoke.

“But it’s freezing outside,” You protest. “Take the cloak and scarf I made you.”

He smiles at you brightly, putting both on. Shouldering the yoke, he stepped into the darkening world outside. Gods, you had been at it all day long. No wonder you were exhausted.

You moved the blanket that had been under you, now messy and sticky, and used a clean bit to wipe yourself then set it aside to wash it. You tried your best to stand up, but gave up after the fifth attempt.

Declan returned promptly, setting down the full pails and the yoke, bouncing excitedly. He handed you a dress and your cloak.

“Come and see! Come and see!” He said energetically, running to you, and back to the entrance, and then back to you.

“What’s going on?” You said, chuckling at him.

“Just come! Hurry!”

You made another attempt to stand, and immediately fell, your legs little more than wet noodles. He laughed boyishly and helped you to your feet, pulling the dress over your head and the cloak around you shoulders. He pulled you insistently toward the doorway.

“Let me put on my boots!” You protested, giggling and stepping into them. He took your hand and led you outside. You gasped.

The ground was glistening, and all around you, fluffy white snow was falling gently. It landed in your hair and on Declan’s soft shoulders, speckled against the dark fur. It danced in the air like a ballet, all delicate and dreamlike. Like you were in a different world. A better one.

You looked at Declan and he’s smiling so hard that he’s liable to crack his face.

“It’s amazing!” He breathed. Opening his arms wide as if to catch as many of snowflakes he could. He laughed openly, happily, warmly. Like a person unburdened by heartache, free of any hardship. You loved seeing him like this.

“You look happy, sweetheart,” You told him, and he swung around to snatch you up into his arms.

“I am,” He whispered into your hair. “I’m happier than I have ever been in all my life. This has been the best day and it’s all thanks to you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You pulled back to look at him, smiling sweetly. “It’s just the first of many, my love, and there is so much more to come.”

He kissed you with a fierceness he hadn’t yet displayed, and it left you breathless. “I can’t wait.” He said against your lips, and the kiss resumed with vigor.

It seemed like the two of you wouldn’t have any trouble staying warm this winter.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

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#Monster Boyfriend #Bat Monster #Interspecies Romance #My Writing #My OCs #Declan #Exophilia

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matildainmotion · 6 years

Text

Mothering/ Making - but what about the Mating?!

Spring has sprung at last. The bluebells are out in our garden. The apple tree is in blossom and a pair of wood pigeons that nest there are clearly busy. It is the month of May. The mating season has begun.

Mating. The thing that often, though not always, precedes mothering. A mate: your partner; your other half; your significant other; your wife; your husband; your spouse; your girlfriend; your boyfriend; your man; your woman; your dear one; your queer one; your ex. Have I left yours off the list? Please add them in….

I feel nervous as I sit down to write about this. I have said before that I aim to challenge the ‘professional versus personal’ paradigm around which our lives are organised and via which the personal gets a poor name. But isn’t this theme getting a little toopersonal? It is okay to talk about mothering – it’s personal but valuing it is what I am advocating. It is okay to talk about making – it’s both personal and professional – that’s the point. It straddles both. But your mate? Your partner? Isn’t that a step too far? It feels like a ‘hot spot.’ It is tender, difficult, awkward, and yet it is huge. An elephant in the room, or a father/ mother/ non-binary other, just outside it. All the more reason to brave it. Here goes….

In part I am nervous raising this topic because in doing so I could summon up the image of a group of mothers sitting round having a moan about their men. This is not my aim – quite the opposite in fact. It is also not the only reason why I feel nervous. Inevitably this is where I need to get personal….

I have a husband. I still flinch slightly when I use this term. I like it because I love my husband and I loved our wedding. I want to honour the seriousness of my lifelong commitment to him. I do not like it because of the plethora of assumptions it brings with it about who I am and how my life is organised. It makes me a participant in the ‘proper world’ of marriage and all it brings – for better, for worse. I participate in the ‘properness’ and yet I also identify myself as outside or even against it, certainly not one of its unequivocal proponents.

Back to my husband. We met whilst making. We made a show together. Then another. Then we made a home, and then, a baby. I remember when our son first arrived I did not feel the instant overwhelming maternal love that some describe – the love grew later - but I did feel protective at once, responsible for this raw bundle of life with such palpable needs. This has continued. The children and my care of them – we now have two – are, for me, a given. I cannot not respond to them. If anything this is a confession, not a boast. Judgements aside, I am simply noticing that the children’s place in my day, as part of my time, is unquestionable.

I am in the extremely privileged, and weirdly traditional, position of being, for the most part, supported by my husband financially, which means I have been able to be a full time mother. I love it. I never resent the fact that I do most of the childcare, but I might if I had to give up my creative practice to do so. Along with the children being a given, it has felt essential for me to keep making – the critical quality of this need is the origin of Mothers who Make. So, I HAVE to mother, I HAVE to make – these two take up more than all my time, but what then of my marriage?

Mothers Who Make acknowledges the challenges, as well as the joys, of mothering alongside making, but if I am honest the truly fractious, difficult fault line, or conundrum for me since becoming a mother has not been how to sustain my creative practice, but how to sustain and care for my relationship, for my mate. At night in the tiny window of time after the children are asleep (they go to bed late) I often have a choice: do I see my husband for an hour or do I do some work? At weekends we take it in turns: I give my husband some time to work while I am with the children, then we swap – no time for us. All too often the making and the marriage feel pitted against each other, even though I know that in fact the latter grew out of the former and the two are inextricably connected.

Mothers Who Make meetings and events are adult-centred spaces but the children are welcomed and integrated. Such spaces are rare in our cultural topography yet whilst I am busy broadcasting about these to the world, showing that it is not only possible but good for all of us – adults and children alike – I do not manage it at home. At home we are child-centred and the adults needs are marginalised. We squeeze in our needs around the edge of the children’s or we don’t get them met at all. It is not how I wish it to be, but it is difficult to change. There are several reasons for this, some personal, some to do with the children we happen to have, some connected to our patterns of work - working in the arts our work spills out into every corner of our lives, demanding its own nurturing, and in subtle ways makes it harder for us to assert our adult-connection and ownership of the home space.

Another key reason, not particular to us, is the shortcomings of the nuclear family structure. Within a Mothers who Makemeeting a small community is formed for the duration of the session. Mostly there are more adults than children present in the space, and collectively, sitting in a circle, it is possible to hold the structure of the meeting in place, to keep the space adult-centred even whilst the children interrupt, shout, cry and run around us. With a circle of two, at home, it is harder. I am not saying it is impossible – for some it works, but I believe we need a greater diversity of structures around which we could build our lives. The royal fairy tale goes: man meets woman, they fall in love, marry, settle, have two or more children and live happily ever after. We know it is not real or even necessarily desirable, and yet it is amazing how potent it still remains, how far we compare ourselves against it, so that any other narrative becomes a daring deviation or, worse, a failure.

Whilst the bluebells and the apple tree may be blooming in the sunshine, the carrots that my son planted in one corner are only tiny shoots, barely showing through. Allotment gardeners talk about the month of May, when the winter brassica’s are over and the summer’s first broad bean’s have not yet come in, as ‘the hungry gap.’ There is little or no fresh produce, whilst everything grows. After our initial season of courtship and mating, my husband and I are in ‘the hungry gap’ – we’ve been in it for a while. The children are young and growing but not yet grown, and there is almost no time to feed our relationship. I trust we will come out the other side into a late summer romance, but it is a struggle. I wish we could find another gentler, more joyful way through, not just buckling down and bearing it. We are in the midst of trying, seeing if and how we might house my mother, the indomitable granny, who is as close as we can come to an extended family model, seeing if and how we might be able to reconfigure our home/ work spaces to better meet our needs.

Here then are my month’s questions for you all: what’s your way through? How does it work for you? How does it not? What is blooming? What is struggling to grow? We need a plurality of stories, diverse gardens, a new sustainable ecology, within which to nurture ourselves, our work, our children and our mates be they men, women or queer - they are all dear.

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